


And Then There Were Three

by Kalajorn



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Mystery Trio, Mystery Trio AU, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6602446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalajorn/pseuds/Kalajorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan and Ford reunite a few years early. And Stanford invites Stan to come to Gravity Falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Long Long Lost Twins and Meetings in Dark Alleys

Stanford Pines and Fiddleford Mcgucket hurried quickly down the sidewalk, occasionally one would through a glance their shoulder and speed up a little. They had come into Portland to get some supplies for the portal and due to the fact toxic waste is not exactly legal to sell, they had to go to some… well, unsavory characters to get it.

At this point Stanford was really starting to wish he had waited until the next day to check out the goods or at least driven instead of walking.

The street lights flickered ominously as he cast another glance over his shoulder. They were still being followed. About four minutes or so ago a group of five men had fallen into step behind them. Stanford had no doubt that they meant trouble. He really wanted to start running, but he feared that would cause them to be jumped immediately.

They rounded a corner the group behind them falling out of sight for a moment. There was an alley with a large dumpster. Stanford grabbed Fiddleford's hand and dragged him into the ally where they crouched down behind the dumpster. The other group went by chuckling and talking in low voices.

When he couldn't hear them anymore, Stanford stood up. He tried to steady his rough breathing and heard Fiddleford also suck in a deep breath beside him. They approached the exit of the alley ready to find an alternative route home. A shadow fell over them.

"Aw, did you really think you could through us off?" The man asked condescendingly.

Stanford couldn't get a good look at his face, but his eyes glinted evilly in the light. He had a bulky muscular build, and smelled of smoke and battery acid.

Stanford brought up his fists, he had no doubt about the man's attentions. It had been years since he had boxed, but it was worth a try.

"Cute," the thug said to the tall wiry man to his left. "He thinks he can fight me."

Stanford growled a little. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Fiddleford getting ready for the fight, a board he must have found in the alley in hand. Fiddleford might be a gentleman most of the time, but he was really scrappy when he felt like it. Stanford had to hold him back from seeking retribution on more than one occasion back in college. Right now, though, he could tell his friend was just as scared as him. Their odds were not looking good right now.

The man smiled menacingly and advanced, his friends right behind him.

Stanford and Fiddleford managed to put up a descent fight, but in the end they were outnumbered and fighting against a lot more practice than they had.

Stanford groaned as he leaned up against the wall, head throbbing from a hard blow. Fiddleford his arm looped over Stanford's shoulder to stay upright.

Stanford still took a little comfort in the fact that they managed to give out a few black eyes and bruises.

Just then he heard footsteps outside the alley.

"Help!" he managed to call out.

The lead thug wacked him and turned to face the passerby. Creating enough of an opening that Stanford could see him.

He was wearing a ratty pair of jeans and had a red coat on, hood pulled up so his face was in shadow. His build was stocky and strong, if a little soft around the middle.

"Why don't you move along and stay out of this," the thug growled at the passerby.

Stanford realized the man had stopped and was staring at him. As their eyes met the stranger drew in a sharp breath and straightened up, his gaze shifting from Stanford to his assailants.

"Why don' you let them go," the man growled, hands slipping into his pockets.

The voice was inexplicably familiar, but Stanford couldn't quite place it.

"Back off this ain't your business."

"Well I'm makin' it mine."

The man's hands reemerged from his pockets clenched into fists. Something glinted in the streetlight and Stanford realized he was wearing brass knuckles.

The lead thug signaled and one of his cronies charged the man. The stranger shifted into a boxer's stance and made short work of the man. Duck, jab, dodge, hard left hook. Brass knuckle clad fists made a hard crack against bone.

At this point the rest of the thugs decided that the stranger was actually going to be trouble.

They pulled away from Stanford and Fiddleford and began to close in on the other man.

As he dropped back into a fighting stance and raised his fists, his hood fell off allowing the light to finally hit his face.

"Stanley!?"

Stanford's eyes widened and his jaw dropped open. He looked different, his hair was longer there was stubble on his face and a hard look in his eyes, but there was no mistaking his twin.

Stanley's eyes flicked over to Stanford for a moment and then refocused on the men approaching him.

He charged at them suddenly with a raw throated yell.

Everything devolved into chaos at that point. Fists flying, the occasional flash of Stanley's brass knuckles, snarls and yells and the occasional yelp of pain.

Stanford really wanted to help, but honestly he was terrified to enter the brawl. It was like watching feral dogs fight.

Stanley was different too. In the past when he had watched his brother fight, whether in the boxing ring or against some school yard bullies, his moves had been open and direct relying more on brute force and stamina, than feints. Now He would maneuver his opponents into each other or the walls. He fought like a rabid animal. There was a bright crazed look to his eyes, his teeth were bared, and he went for any and every weakness or opening that made itself available.

Stanford saw one of them moving up behind Stanley ready to brain him with a club.

"Stanley!"

He spun around at Stanford's voice, narrowly dodging a blow to the head and instead taking it to his left shoulder. He let out a harsh yowl of pain, but socked the man in the head and he collapsed to the ground.

Stanley stood there breathing hard, hands clenched and bleeding. His posture was still very tense and his back was turned to them.

"Stanley?"

Stanford was having trouble processing anything right now. Between the brother he hadn't seen for almost eight years showing up out of the blue and almost getting mugged, his brain wasn't really running on all four cylinders.

Stanley hadn't moved yet. Stanford took a step forward, hand outstretched in concern.

"Are you all right?"

"Alright?!" Stanley half-yelled. "Alright?"

He spun around and began stalking toward Stanford menacingly.

"Are you alright?" He snarled.

"What the fuck were you thinking? You should not be out here at this time of the night."

He was now right in Stanford's face. He took a step back in surprise.

"Do you want to get killed?" Stanley slammed his hand into the wall on the other side of Stanford's head, his brass knuckles clinking against the brick.

For several seconds they just stared at each other.

"Um, excuse me?" Mcgucket's voice broke the stare down.

Stanley blinked and moved back from him.

"Who are you?" He asked a little gruffly.

"I'm Fiddleford Hadron Mcgucket, I'm a friend from college and Stanford's research assistance."

He paused his eyes running over Stanley.

"Um we might want to get that arm looked at."

It was at that point that Stanford noticed Stanley's left arm was hanging limply at his side.

"Holy shit, is that dislocated," Stanford moved forward to get a look at it.

"Don't worry about it," Stanley said with a sigh.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and bit down on it and then, before Stanford could even process what he was about to do, he relocated his arm in one swift movement. Stanford winced at the popping noise.

Stanley rotated it in a circle and grimaced slightly.

"There good as new."

His eyes narrowed moving back and forth between Stanford and Fiddleford.

"You guys look like crap," He declared.

He opened his mouth to say something else and then closed it his eyes darting around.

"We need to get out of here. Where are you two staying?"

Fiddleford listed of the name of the hotel and street it was on.

Stanley nodded.

"Okay, I'll escort you two there. Follow me."

He turned away from them and started walking. They hesitated for a moment and then followed behind, stepping over the prone bodies of their attackers.

"Um shouldn't we report them to the police?" Fiddleford asked.

"Ya can if ya want, but I won't be sticking 'round then," Stanley said with a shrug.

"Why? Are you in trouble with the police?" Stanford asked frowning, as he lengthened his strides to keep up with his brother.

"No!" Stanley said a little too sharply.

Definitely lying.

Stanford opened his mouth to inquire farther.

"Look," Stanley cut him off with a sigh, "I'm not getting into that. I'll get ya home, but no more questions about my business."

There was a sharp, clipped tone to his voice that booked no argument.

They walked in silence for a ways. Stanford quietly studying his brother. He had changed a lot. Though to be fair their reunion was not under the best of conditions, so it was hard to gauge just how much.

They finally got out of the back streets into the brightly lit main areas of Portland. Stanley grimaced and drew his hood back up, but he seemed a little less tightly coiled.

"So what are you doin' in Portland?" Stanley asked falling back in step now that Stanford had his bearings again.

"Fiddleford and I are getting supplies for a project we're working on."

Stanley turned his head and gave him a rather incredulous stare, eyebrows raised.

Wow that black eye looks bad, Stanford thought.

"In that part of town?" Stanley asked. "What are you doing? Building a nuclear war head?"

"Well not a war head, but it is nuclear powered."

Stanley regarded him for a moment longer, then shook his head.

"Ya know what, I'm not even gonna ask."

His gaze drifted over toward Fiddleford.

"So what was it ya said your name was again?"

"Fiddleford. It's nice to meet you Stanley."

"Call me Stan. Fiddleford, huh?"

Stanley rubbed his chin.

"That's a bit of a mouthful. I'm gonna call you Fidds."

Fiddleford shrugged, "fine with me"

"So ya said ya met my brother in college? What was your major?"

Fiddleford's eyes lit up and he began an excited explanation of his field to Stanley.

Stanford hung back and watched quietly. Now that they were in a safer area and the adrenaline and fear had died down, a lot of other feelings were coming to the surface.

On one hand he still had a lot of anger that he had been nursing toward Stanley over the science fair project, but on the other he was surprised by how happy he felt over seeing his twin again. This was coupled with foreboding over Stanley's apparent avoidance of the police. What had his brother gotten into over these past eight years?

A loud laugh from Fiddleford drew him up out of his contemplation. The wiry man was grinning wildly at whatever Stanley had just said.

"Oh, yeah? Well one time I got an old tracker back up and running on duct tape alone!"

Stanley snorted.

"Please, we all know duct tape will fix everything…"

"Well you didn't see this tractor, I swear it… Oh, we're here."

Stanford hadn't even noticed they were in front of the hotel now.

"Well… I guess this is where I leave you two."

Stanley took a step back, hesitated and then turned to go.

"Wait!" Stanford wasn't quite sure what he had been planning to say, but he wasn't ready to just let his brother disappear off into the night and most likely out of his life again.

Stanley turned back toward him and cocked an eyebrow.

"Um…" Stanford opened and closed his mouth trying to come up with something to say.

"Would you like to have breakfast with us?" Fiddleford said moving up beside Stanford.

"Oh, I couldn't…"

"I insist," He said firmly. "It's the least we could do after you saved us today."

"Well when you put it that way," Stanley's eyes darted over to Stanford.

"Okay… There's a really good dinner over on 5th street called Sally's would that work?"

Stanford got his wits back about then and managed to respond.

"Yes that would be great. How about at eight?"

"Sure."

A bright smile broke out across Stanley's face, and for a moment, Stanford saw the boy he used to know. Then he turned away and disappeared into the night. Stanford thought he heard a faint humming as he went.


	2. Conversations With Geometry and Unexpected Offers

_Stanford found himself floating in a star-filled void. Around him books and scrolls and glowing blue equations were drifting through the air._

_“Heard you met someone interesting today, IQ!”_

_Stanford smiled at the voice of his friend and turned to see the yellow triangle watching him._

_Bill floated over and ruffled his hair playfully. He dodged away when Stanford batted at him._

_“You really need to take better care of yourself. I don’t know what I’d do if you got injured.”_

_“Yeah I’ll be careful…”_

_Stanford sighed, his thoughts elsewhere._

_“Hey, cheer up Sixer… Want to learn about the mating rituals of Peruvian Gut Worms?”_

_Stanford grimaced. Bill really did try._

_“I’m not in the mood, Bill.”_

_A reclining chair appeared beneath Stanford and another one floating at an off kilter angle appeared beneath Bill. He snapped his fingers and he was now wearing an eyeglass and had a note pad and pencil in his hands._

_“So tell me why you’re all down in the dumps.”_

_Stanford smiled a little at Bill’s antics._

_“Well I’m sure you already know, but today my brother was the one who rescued me and Fiddleford.”_

_He leaned back into the chair._

_“Yeah, I’m still not sure how I feel about it, but… It was actually nice to see him again. At the same time I’m still mad at him over what happened at the science fair, but he looks… He’s so different. I’ve always told myself that he was fine, but now, seeing how he acts, how he fights, the fact that he might be on the run from the police… I’m just concerned, I suppose. It’s complicated.”_

_“Uh-huh…” Bill nodded, jotting something down on his notepad. He then tossed it into the air and it vanished._

_“Well it seems to me that you have every right to be still mad at your brother. It was his fault that you lost your dream school and ended up stuck at Backupsmore after all.”_

_“Yeah, but…”_   
  


_“Look Stanford, you don’t need him, but I can tell you won’t be able to concentrate if you don’t do something, so I have a proposition for you.”_

_Stanford sat up a little and glanced at Bill curiously._

_“So you and Fiddleford tend to get in a lot of trouble with your research, why just last week you almost got eaten by a giant spider. I can’t have my favorite meat-sacks getting hurt, so perhaps it would be useful to ask your brother to come work for you as hired muscle? He seems to be strong and descent at fighting. That way you can get rid of that pointless guilt and sense of obligation you have and make your life easier in one fell swoop.”_

_“I don’t know, Bill. We’ve been apart for a long time and Stanley has a life of his own…”_

_Bill shrugged, “Just giving you some possibilities. I’m sure having someone to do the grunt work will help you get the portal done earlier.”_

_An excited look passed through Bill’s eye at the idea. Stanford smiled at his enthusiasm. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask for a little help._

_“Okay I’ll think about it.”_

_“One thing first,” Bill’s expression became serious again._

_“Make sure you don’t tell Stanley about me.”_

_Stanford furrowed his brow._

_“Why do you even need to bring that up? I’m already not telling Fiddleford, I’m not sure why you think I would tell Stanley.”_

_Bill sighed._

_“You see, your little friend TwiddleDee, while he certainly would not react well to our arrangement, is a man of science. If he ever were to find out about me you would have a chance to explain things to him. TweddleDum on the other hand is more of a rough sort, more superstitious. If he were to find out about me, he would freak out and probably try to get you exorcised or something. Even if you could get him to sit down and listen, he wouldn’t understand. So I’m just asking you to be extra careful around him ‘kay?”_

_“Okay Bill”_

* * *

 

Stan waited nervously in the back of the dinner. He was going to see his brother again!

He leaned against the wall and tugged at his hood  watching as a few more people wandered in the door.

Stanford had grown some, since he had last seen him. He seemed a more confident and out of his shell. In many ways, though he hadn’t changed.

To be fair, Stan hadn’t had much time to observe him, so it was hard to say for sure, but he still had that same disregard for safety that drove Stan up the walls when they were younger, he dressed the same, he talked the same…

_And he probably still hates me._

Stan grimaced at the unbidden thought. He didn’t know that. At a bare minimum Ford seemed willing to at least give him a second glance.

_Of course that could be just because I rescued them and he didn’t want to look bad in front of his friend._

Stan sighed and glanced at the clock, any time now. Hopefully they would arrive before the restaurant staff concluded he was just a loiterer and kicked him out. It had happed before. He made sure to clean up enough so that he didn’t look completely homeless.

The bell over the door rang and Stanford entered with his friend Fiddleford. The fact that Sixer’s friend had “Ford” in his last name was very amusing to Stan. If he wasn’t so nervous he probably would have made a joke about it.

Ford’s eyes swept across the restaurant and stopped when they reached Stan. He straightened up and made his way over. He and Fiddleford sat down opposite him.

They looked a little disheveled and had some visible bruises, but seemed fine otherwise.

Stan felt himself relax just a little. Over the past eight years he had seen a lot of people beat up. He certainly had been beat up a lot himself, but when he saw his brother cowering before a bunch of thugs in that back alley he had felt a kind of fear that he had never felt before. And the anger…

Hearing his brother’s weak cry for help, seeing him standing there beat up had ignited an anger so fiery and hot that it felt like it would consume him from the inside. He had been glad those thugs decided to fight him so he could release it.

He didn’t realize he was staring at Stanford until Fiddleford asked him how he was doing.

Honestly he felt like crap. Taking on five fully grown men in a fight was never an easy task. He probably had a cracked rib and there was no doubt he was covered with bruises, but he didn’t want them to think he was weak.

“I’m fine, I’ve had worse,” he said with a bored shrug.

The movement sent a bolt pain up his side but he kept his face neutral.

“How are you two doing?” He asked, gaze lingering on a bruise on Ford’s neck.

“Sore, but I’ll recover,” was Fiddleford’s response.

“Same,” said Ford.

“You really should be more careful,” Stan said, mostly to Ford.

Stanford actually rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I hear,” He said.

Stan noted the exasperated look Fiddleford was giving him. It was nice to know there was someone out there to nag his brother about his lax safety standards.

“What are you doing these days, Stanley?” Ford asked obviously wanting to change the topic.

_Oh, just running a few scams, getting in trouble with a gang here and there, smuggling things across multiple state and country borders… Did I mention I’ve been to prison?_ Stan thought, bemused.

It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to tell his brother what he had been actually up to. He crossed his arms.

“Not too much exiting. I work as a traveling salesman. I’ve been across most of the country, I guess.” He said out loud.

He glanced between Stanford and Fiddleford and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m much more curious what you two are up to. Just, please don’t tell me if you’re building a world destroying superweapon.” He said trying to use some humor to make the butterflies in his stomach go away.

Stanford rolled his eyes.

“Don’t worry Stanley, I would never build a ‘world destroying superweapon’. As for what Fiddleford and I are building, it’s complicated. We’re creating a machine to… investigate the origin of some anomalies.”

There was definitely more to that. Stanford was hiding his hands, something he always did when he was nervous or uncomfortable. Stan decided to let it slide. If Ford didn’t want to talk about it, he wasn’t going to push his luck.

“Hey, Stanley?”

Stanford froze when Stan looked back up at him. He opened and closed his mouth a few times like he couldn’t get his words to work right.

“I wondered if you wanted to come work for me,” He finally blurted out.

Stan had not been expecting that. It took him a second to close his mouth and put a good poker face on.

Stanford, meanwhile, looked really flustered like he had not intended to say that or at least not that way. Fiddleford also looked surprised. Stan suspected he had not been consulted on this beforehand.

Stan took a deep breath to steady himself.

“Why?” He asked carefully in a flat, level voice.

His brother had certainly never made any attempt to connect with him in the past. Why would he be inviting him to work for him now? He would have to see Stan all the time.

Stanford’s eyes darted around like he was expecting to see an answer written on one of the tables or something. Fiddleford was watching him with interest too.

“Um… I just think it would be nice to have someone to help out… to make our work a little easier. You know help us fight off the monsters and stuff!”

“Monsters?”

“Did I say ‘monsters’? I meant the local wildlife, they can be a little aggressive.”

While it was fun watching Ford digging himself into a hole, Stan really wanted to know why he was doing this. Did Ford really want him around, or did he just feel sorry for Stan because he looked homeless and had accidentally admitted he had problems with the police. Stan couldn’t stand it if he was just a charity case to his brother.

At this point Fiddleford, who had been watching silently up till this point, broke in.

“Well we really could use some help with all the heavy lifting we’re doing and I would certainly feel more comfortable having you along when we go back to get the fuel.”

He leaned a little closer to Stan.

“I could certainly use someone to make sure Stanford here, doesn’t blow himself up or pull three all-nighters in a row,” He said in a stage whisper with a twinkle in his eye.

“Hey!” Ford said.

Stan snorted with amusement.

Figures his brother would still be doing that. Sometimes back in high school Stan would hide his books to make him go to sleep.

Stan’s gaze shifted over toward Stanford. His brother was currently shooting glares at his assistant and didn’t notice Stan looking at him.

“So do you really want me to come work for you?”

Stan cursed the hesitation that crept into his voice and made sure his face was blank so no other unwanted emotions could slip out.

“Of course,” Ford said with a firm nod. “I would not have asked otherwise.”

He seemed sincere enough. Even if it was out of pity Stan realized then that couldn’t really waste this chance to prove himself to his brother. It would really be nice to have family again for once. He just had to make sure he didn’t let his hopes get up too much. If nothing else he owed his brother.

Even with these thoughts in his head, he could feel a smile creeping across his face.

“In that case I guess you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.”


	3. Anxious Anticipation and Awkward Conversations

Stanford glanced out the window. Nothing. He paced another circuit around the kitchen table and looked again, still nothing. He sighed.

There was a loud groan from behind him.

“Oh for the love of…! You sit yourself down right this instant, Stanford Pines. Or so help me I will…”

Stanford glanced over at Fiddleford who was glaring in exasperation at him from his seat at the table. Blueprints for the portal were spread out in front of him and a cup of coffee was steaming by his right hand.

“But he’ll be here any time now,” Stanford protested, feeling oddly like a little kid.

Fiddleford actually rolled his eyes.

“Sit. Now.” He commanded.

Stanford collapsed into the chair opposite him with a sigh.

“Now look,” Fiddleford said in a kind tone. “Yes, Stanley will be arriving today, but driving places takes time and sometimes traffic can be bad. You’re not going to make him arrive any faster by staring out the window and wearing a rut into the floor. Here’s some equations for the portal. Why don’t you go over them? Stan will be here before you know it.”

“Okay,” Stanford said with a grudging nod, reaching out to take the papers from his assistant.

He laid the notes out in front of him and tried to focus on the jumble of numbers and letters. On a normal day nothing could have distracted him from his work, but now… He twisted slightly so he could peer out the window. It had been about two months since he had made contact with his brother. Stanley had told him that he had some things to wrap up before he could come work with him.

Stanford understood, of course. His brother had a life of his own now, it made sense that he couldn’t just drop everything at a second’s notice to come running. But for some reason he was still nervous. When his brother called him a week ago to tell him that he would be on his way soo, Stanford had been surprised by just how excited he had felt, but now that Stanley was on the way he felt almost scared.

There were just so many things that could go wrong. What if they got in a fight again? What if Stanley messed up something for his project? What if he got Stanley injured? What about the supernatural? Should he have told Stanley about that beforehand? He knew that it was better to wait until there was some actual physical proof, _but still_ …

“For crying out loud… Stop that this instant!” Fiddleford said in annoyance.

Stanford realized he was tapping the table and stilled his hand. He looked sheepishly at Fiddleford.

“Sorry.”

Fiddleford sighed.

“I can tell you are not going to get any work done. So how about we run into town, get some groceries and maybe…”

“No!” Stanford said abruptly.

Fiddleford looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry… What if Stanley shows up while we are gone?”

“Then why don’t you take out the trash and clean the dishes,” Fiddleford said in a tone of forced patience.

Stanford almost protested, but he was quieted by Fiddleford’s exasperated expression.

“Okay,” He said, standing up again.

When he finished with the dishes and trash, Fiddleford assigned him some more chores. By the time dinner rolled around, the house was spotless, if still extremely cluttered.

“Better?” Fiddleford asked as Stanford collapsed into one of the chairs.

He nodded, he actually did feel somewhat better. It certainly made time pass faster than staring out the window all day at any rate.

“Good.”

Fiddleford turned back to the pot of stew he was working on. Stanford’s stomach growled hungrily as the smell of onions, potatoes, broth and meat wafted over to him. When was the last time they had something besides beans, canned meat and the occasional orange? It had been a while. They should probably vary their diet more. It was just that cooking took so much time.

There was the sound of a car coming into the driveway, gravel scattering as it pulled to a halt. Stanford jumped to his feet and smashed his shins into the kitchen table.

After standing there for a moment, cringing at the sudden pain, he bolted for the front door. On the way there he stubbed his toe on the sofa, upset a pile of books and managed to run headfirst into a wall. By the time he made it to the front door and yanked it open, Stanley was standing there with his fist raised to knock.

After Stanford opened the door, the two of them just stared at each other. The silence stretched long and awkward. Birds chirped in the background and the wind rustled the pine trees.

At last Stanford managed to break the silence.

“So… how was your drive?”

Stanley blinked and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh, um, it was good… yeah. How was your day?”

“Oh… fine… did a lot of cleaning and stuff…”

There was another stretch of silence.

“So… Fiddleford is just about done with dinner, would you like to come in and we can unpack your stuff afterward?”

“Sure,” Stanley said his expression going oddly blank again.

Stanford led the way through the house, acutely aware of his brother’s footsteps behind him. A dozen different emotions raced through him. Excitement. Fear. Joy. Suspicion. Curiosity. By the time they arrived in the kitchen his hands were shaking a little.

Fiddleford looked up from the stove and gave them a smile.

“Hello there, Stan.”

“Hey,” Stanley said in a rough voice from behind him.

They sat down at the table. Again an awkward silenced reined for a few minutes before Stanley cleared his throat and spoke up.

“So… nice place ya got here, Ford.”

Stanford nodded.

“Thanks…”

“Well, dinner’s ready,” Fiddleford announced placing a bowl of soup before each of them and putting one down for himself.

Stanford blinked and looked over at Fiddleford.

“Thank-you,” He said at the exact same time as Stanley.

They looked at each other and then simultaneously burst into awkward laughter. Fiddleford stared at them for a moment, shook his head and chuckled along with them.

“It’s good to see you again,” Stanford said when they had stopped laughing.

Stanley gave him a small, but genuine smile at that.

“Thanks… I really missed your nerdy voice too, Sixer,” He said gruffly.

* * *

 

Stan followed Ford upstairs to the attic.

“So this is where you’ll be staying.” Ford said opening the door.

Stan entered the room behind him, stopping to observe his surroundings. The roof slanted inward on either side to form a point at the top. On the far end of the room was a triangular window with a bed beneath it. There was a wooden chest of drawers on one side and a thick braided rug on the floor.

“Sorry about how cramped it is,” Ford said.

“That’s fine,” Stan replied absently.

It was far better than the accommodations he was used to. It would certainly be a nice change of pace from the car.

 _For however long this lasts anyway,_ He thought.

He still wasn’t sure if Ford had forgiven him for the science fair incident as it had yet to come up in conversation. He doubted he would get off that easily. He was honestly scared to bring it up. He knew from their childhood that Ford could really hold a grudge if he was upset. Not that Stan couldn’t, but he tended to get it out of his system early by socking the perpetrator in the face. Stanford on the other hand tended to sit and stew.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Stan looked up and saw Ford staring at him with concern.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m fine,” He said carefully shoving his more painful emotions back into the corner of his mind.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Ford persisted.

“That’s cause I have nothing to say,” Stan replied, a little irritation managing to slip into his tone.

He really didn’t feel like talking about what went on in his head. He forced a neutral look back onto his face.

Stanford studied him for a moment before sighing and turning to leave.

“Okay. Are you sure you don’t want me to help you move in?”

“Positive,” Stan said with a nod.

“Oh and Ford?”

Ford glanced and him with a raised eyebrow.

“Thanks.”

Ford smiled at him.

“You’re welcome.”

He hesitated a moment longer, as if he wanted to say something else, and then left.

Stan sat down on the bed and sighed. He felt drained already. It was hard to interact with his brother. He just wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing, anymore. The only consolation was that Ford seemed just as uncertain.

Oddly he had no trouble talking to Fiddleford. The mechanical engineer was an interesting and friendly person. He was able to talk about his field without either slipping into technobabble or dumbing it down to the point that it felt condescending, as Ford used to do. He definitely wanted to see Fidds’ robots sometime.

He regarded the chest of drawers for a moment and then shoved his suitcase into the corner and popped it open. He put some of the clothes into the drawers but left most in the suitcase so he could repack quickly if he needed to.

After he was done he collapsed back onto the bed. He lay there for a moment before kicking his shoes off and crawling under the covers.

As he was starting to drift off to sleep the feeling that he was being watched hit him. He jerked upright and, for a split second, he was sure he saw a single eye staring at him from the shadows. He pulled out the pistol that he had slipped under his pillow and flicked the light on, adrenaline racing, ready to defend himself.

Nothing.

Breathing hard, Stan got out of bed and proceeded to make a clean sweep of the room, checking all the closets and corners just to be sure, pistol at the ready. The door was very creaky, so he didn’t need to open it as nothing could have made it through without him hearing.

When he was done with his search, he shoved his suit case up against the door to make it a little harder to get in.

He lay back down, shoving his gun back under the pillow. He was probably going to lay awake for a while. Now that he thought about it, pulling out the gun at the first loud sound he heard, might not be the best idea. What if his brother or Fidds came in? He grimaced. He really wasn’t used to living with people he didn’t have to worry about attacking him anymore.

Eventually he drifted off to sleep.

That night he dreamed about eyes on trees and moving shadows.


	4. Welcome to My World

For a moment after Stan woke up he couldn’t figure out where he was. He wasn’t in the secure confines of his car but rather a large dark room. He lay still, trying to keep his breathing steady and quiet until he could figure out where he was.

The events of the past day came back to him in a flash and he relaxed remembering that he was now at Ford’s house.

The bed let out an irritated groan as he sat up and Stan froze waiting breathlessly for any sound from downstairs. After nothing happened he released the breath he had been holding and slipped silently onto the floor, shivering as the cold wooden boards touched his feet.

He turned around and moved the pistol from under his pillow to beneath his mattress, it was a terrible hiding place, but he would find a better one later. For now he just needed to make sure Fiddleford or Ford didn’t find it.

He turned around and glared at the door for a moment, as if somehow by force of will he could prevent it from squeaking when he opened it. Briefly he contemplated going out the window, but he quickly dismissed that notion. The fact remained that he really hated high places.

Stan sighed and grabbed the doorknob. He cringed at the loud shriek it produced as he eased it open. He really had to do something about that. He should still have some oil in the heist kit down in his car that would probably do the trick.

He snuck carefully downstairs wincing occasionally as he hit a creaky floorboard. Eventually he reached the kitchen. He heaved a sigh of relief and swiped his hand around the table until he found the lantern.

When the lantern glow illuminated the kitchen, he hummed softly as he set it on the counter and squinted at his watch. Five in the morning. It figured that a full night’s sleep would make him wake up at some unnatural hour. If his brother was anything like he used to be in high school he would not be up until at least 10 unless he had something he was working on, then he probably just wouldn’t sleep. Stan shook his head with fond exasperation at the memories that surfaced.

He hunted around the cupboard until he eventually found the coffee pot and coffee. Columbian Roast. Stan gave a snort of amusement at that.

Once the coffee was brewing he slipped outside. He sat down on the steps heavily and watched as the sun slowly began to rise, trying not to focus on the nervous thoughts circling his mind.

There was a thud from the house. Assuming that Ford or Fiddleford must be awake Stan got up and went back inside.

“About time you nerds…”

Stan rounded the corner and cut off mid-sentence. Standing on the table chewing on the lantern was some sort of monstrosity. It had a white pony body with a rainbow tail and the head of a dwarf and a horn in the middle of its forehead. It grinned creepily at him as he entered the room.

Stan’s brain stopped functioning as he let out what was definitely not a scream.

There was a thud from the other room and momentarily Ford emerged in his rumpled clothes from the previous day, glasses askew.  

As he looked around the room in some form of bleary eyed sleepy panic. Stan ran over to him and latched onto his arm and pointed at the creature.

“What is that?” He hissed as it let out a high pitched giggle.

Ford finally followed his finger and managed to focus on the creature. His face contorted into a grimace.

“Ugg, a leprecorn,” he said, nose wrinkling in distaste.

“You take care of this,” he told Fiddleford, who had just walked into the kitchen behind him.

Fiddleford looked a little more awake than Ford, which wasn’t saying much. He let out a toneless grunt and wandered over to the cupboard and retrieved a paper bag, which he then proceeded to chuck out the window.

“Go get the marshmallows!” he muttered unenthusiastically.

The leprecorn jumped out the window in pursuit and Fiddleford closed it behind the creature.

“What the fuck was that?” Stan demanded.

Ford blinked at him in bleary eyed irritation.

“Coffee first. Explanations later.”

Stan watched as the two nerds drank about 3 cups of coffee each, before they appeared sufficiently awake and then cleared his throat.

“So?”

Ford looked over at him and then flushed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Eh… Sorry. I just don’t deal well with things until I’ve had my coffee.”

“I noticed,” Stan said tonelessly.

Ford cleared his throat and readjusted his collar.

“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll explain.”

Stan stood there for a moment longer, staring down his brother, and then obliged, the chair creaking under his weight.

“So I said I was studying anomalies, right,” Ford begin toying with his extra fingers.

Stan grunted in response.

“So anyway, it turns out that there are actually supernatural creatures here in Gravity Falls. I’ve been documenting the local paranormal occurrences for the past few years and recently Fiddleford has joined me to help me create a machine that should help us discover the source of the strangeness.”

Stanford pulled a pen out of his pocket and started fidgeting with it.

“The creature you saw was a Leprecorn. They’re kind of like a cross between a unicorn and a leprechaun. They are extremely annoying.”

Stan watched him carefully, keeping his face neutral as he tried to process all this. It was one of those things that really shifted the way you viewed reality. He had often scoffed at a lot of the superstitions he had come across, but if the supernatural was real… who really knew what was out there? His mind wandered back to some of the more interesting and sometimes disturbing superstitions and tales he had come across in his time traveling.

“I’m really sorry for not telling you earlier… about the supernatural stuff that is.”

Stan blinked with surprise, pulled out of his train of thought by Ford’s voice. Ford was wringing his hands and looked like he might be sweating a little.

Stan sighed and Ford jumped a little at the sound, eyes shifting up again to watch him nervously.

“Look, I get it poindexter, this isn’t the kind of thing you just tell people off the bat. Yeah, I would have liked to have known what I was getting myself into, but I probably wouldn’t have believed ya without seeing anything. Next time though, tell me about the crazy things yer working with so one of them doesn’t jump me in the kitchen at night unawares, ‘k?”

Ford actually looked surprised at this and then a grin appeared on his face, slowly growing into a full smile.

“Okay,” he said with a nod.

“I’m just curious how you got the school to fund this,” Stan said pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Ford winced at that.

“They didn’t fund this, precisely… they think I’m actually studying some rare local wildflowers and their interaction with a certain type of deer. I give them a paper on that a couple times of year.”

Stan snorted.

“I wouldn’t have thought you had it in ya.”

Ford shrugged.

“I also do some inventing for the government on the side, to get the rest of the money that I need,” He added.

“Do I want to know?” Stan asked raising an eyebrow.

“Probably not.”

* * *

 

 After breakfast Stanford took his brother on a tour of the house. Making sure to show him the labs and his latest research and discoveries. At the end of the tour he brought Stanley downstairs to the elevator.

Stanley’s eyebrows went up at the sight of it.

“Ya know most people are content with one basement,” he commented as the elevator pinged open.

As they got in, he eyed the numbers at the top one more time.

“So what’s on the second level?” Stanley asked.

“Oh that’s my private study,” Stanford said, hoping that he wouldn’t inquire any farther.

He didn’t really want Stanley to see all the Bill memorabilia in there. His brother would at the very least tease him about what Fiddleford referred to as an obsession. At worst he would probably think he was in a cult and call him a sick freak or something.

Anyway Bill didn’t want Stanley to know about him and seeing a solid gold statue would probably would not help.

The elevator pinged again announcing their arrival to the portal lab. Stanley trailed behind him, openly gawking at all the computers and machinery that lined the wall.

Stanford stopped in front of the viewing window and waited for Stanley to draw even with him.

His brother looked through the window and let out a low whistle.

“I have no idea what that is, but it’s impressive.”

Stanford preened a little bit, excited to share his project with his brother, the third person to know about it, not counting Bill. It was honestly a little difficult to work on something so secret, but it would be worth it in the end, when he unveiled his life’s work and changed the world.

“I mentioned earlier that I was searching for the source of Gravity Fall’s weirdness, well this is a transuniversal polydimensional metavortex,”

At Stanley’s confused expression he clarified, “It will be a door to other worlds outside our dimension.”

He paced a little ways away from Stanley still gazing at his portal.

“When we complete it, I will get to be the first human to explore and research other dimensions. Who knows what I will find there? Alien races? Advanced technology? I may even learn of a cure to cancer.”

He felt warm pride pool in his chest at the thought of what was sure to be his greatest achievement

“You’ve done really well for yourself? Haven’t ya?” Stanley said from behind him in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

Stanford turned around and saw that Stanley was watching him with an almost wistful sad expression.

“Stanley?” He said uncertainly.

Stanley blinked and then shook his head. He gave Stanford a fond smile.

“I’m proud of ya Sixer,” he said gruffly.

Stanford felt warm all over at the praise. He had been told it before a number of times, of course. From his parents, his professors, the board in charge of his grant, Bill and Fiddleford, but it was somehow different hearing it from Stanley. From the brother who had always told him they were too good for their small Jersey town.

He smiled back.

The moment was broken when Stanley took a step forward and caught his head under his arm and proceeded to give him a noogie.

“Hey! Stop that!” he protested, trying to shove his brother off him.

“Make me.”

He could hear the shit-eating grin in Stanley’s voice. An idea occurred to him and he grinned wickedly, bringing his arms up.

“Last warning,” He growled playfully.

When Stanley didn’t stop, Stanford wormed his fingers under Stanley’s armpits and started tickling him. Stanley let out an undignified sheik and released him. Stanford smirked and wiggled his fingers at his brother.

“That’s unfair,” Stanley whined.

“A-hem.”

The brothers jumped at the sound and turned to see Fiddleford leaning against the wall by the elevator.

“No horseplay in the lab you two,” His voice was firm, but the edges of his eyes crinkled in amusement.

“Sorry,” Stan said rubbing his neck. His face neutral again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Fiddleford said. “I just want to make sure you two don’t get yourselves hurt. Lord knows Stanford is awful at lab safety.”

“Hey! I resent that,” Stanford grumbled.

He really did try, there were just so many other things that he was thinking about when he was doing an experiment or researching something.

“Says the man who almost got his finger bitten off by a gnome just to see what was under its hat,” Fiddleford grumbled under his breath.

“Fiddleford!” Stanford exclaimed, a flush crawling up his neck.

He had told him not to mention that. Beside him he heard Stanley’s snort of amusement. Great. Now he would never live it down.


	5. Dealing with the Pines Brothers

It had been a whole month since Stan had come to live with them and the two brothers had yet to truly talk.

Yes, they spoke to each other. Stanford would tell Stan about his experiments and ideas, they would discuss the latest monster they had run into, they would ask how each other’s day had gone, but they had yet to truly discuss the things they needed to.

Now Fiddleford certainly understood that everyone had things they preferred not to discuss and had every right not to discuss, but there was something wrong here. Occasionally, he would see pain and sadness in Stan’s eyes when he watched his brother and sometimes he would hear Ford start to ask something but quickly stop because it brushed into the years the two had been apart. He could feel the strain, quietly looming, in so many of their interactions. As far as Fiddleford was aware, their parents still had no idea Stan was here.

Fiddleford shook his head. It was better not to dwell on it too much. It really wasn’t his place to meddle. He didn’t know enough to do much more than lend an ear if they needed it. He sighed as he stopped by the kitchen to grab a sandwich to bring down to Stanford. Normally they would all have lunch together but Stan was in town buying groceries and Stanford had yet to leave his Study.

A grimace crossed his face. Fiddleford was fairly certain Stanford had slept there last night. It was a very had habit and the man was going to mess up his back if he kept it up. Fiddleford walked down the stairs to the first level of the basement and punched in the code. When the elevator door opened at the room, Fiddleford knocked firmly on the closed doors. The Study was the only room in the house that was always locked.

After a moment the door opened and Stanford let him in with a tired but friendly smile. His friend’s hair was stuck up in every direction and there were red prints on his nose from sleeping in his glasses as well as a large black stain of ink on his ear.

As Fiddleford stepped into the room, he kept his face as impassive as he could at all the images of the Eye of Providence. He shuddered slightly, feeling like the eyes were tracking his movements. The room never failed to give him the creeps.

“Good afternoon, Stanford. I brought your lunch.”

“Oh! Thank you Fiddleford,” Stanford said with a smile taking the plate from him and setting it down on the table…

Which had another gold statue on it Fiddleford noted with exasperation. Despite what Stanford said Fiddleford was certain he was worshiping this being… whatever it may be. If the man started doing sacrifices, he was out.

“I really hope that you didn’t use any of our budget to buy that,” Fiddleford said pointedly.

Stanford looked at him confused for a moment, before he followed Fiddleford’s gaze over to the statue.

“Oh, that. Don’t worry,” He said with a dismissive wave. “I found it in a cave.”

“You’re sure finding an awful lot of this kind of thing,” Fiddleford remarked casually.

“I happen to have a good source,” Stanford replied.

“Are you going to introduce them to us at some point?”

Fiddleford had suspected for a while that Stanford was working with someone he hadn’t told him about. There was just something about the way that he occasionally came up with things that just didn’t seem quite right or said “we” at times he really should have said “I”.

The question got Stanford’s attention. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, before his hands disappeared behind his back.

“Eh, he’s just really shy,” He said quickly.

“He doesn’t like to interact with more than one human at a time.”

“Uh-huh,” Fiddleford said, watching Stanford closely.

The man squirmed under his gaze. When it was clear he wasn’t going to say anything else, Fiddleford shook his head and turned to leave.

Stanford sighed and Fiddleford turned to look at him again.

“Look, Fiddleford, I know it’s a little hard to be out of the loop and that I have not been exactly forthcoming with some things, but my source is extremely important to our research. It’s a one in a million years chance and I really can’t blow it by forcing him to interact with more humans when he’s not ready.”

Stanford’s expression was sincere and his eyes searched Fiddleford’s face for understanding.

“That’s the problem, Stanford,” Fiddleford said, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes.

“Your intentions are certainly noble, but sometimes I worry about your judgment. Every once in a while something explodes in your face. I reckon we’ve been awfully lucky so far, but how long will that last for? I’d just feel a whole lot better if I could meet this… source myself.”

Stanford stood up and came over to Fiddleford to rest a hand on his shoulder.

“I know you worry about me. I really appreciate that you care. Just trust me for now, okay?” He gave Fiddleford a little smile. “If it makes you feel better, I can ask him again if it would be okay for you to meet him.”

“That would be a start,” Fiddleford said with a nod.

* * *

 

Fiddleford hummed as he tinkered with the insides of his latest personal computer. Parts, both small and large were spread across the kitchen table. He gently picked up a small diode with a pair of tweezers and inserted in into the computer, then leaned back and took a sip out of his cup of coffee.

“What’re you makin’?” Stanley’s voice started him out of his little bubble.

He jerked with surprise, but managed not to spill anything.  He turned to see Stan leaning in the doorway watching him, several large grocery bags in his arms.

“Sorry… Didn’t mean to startle you,” Stan said as he walked over to the counter to set the groceries down.

“Aw shucks, it’s fine. I really shouldn’t be drinking coffee when I’m working on this,” Fiddleford said getting up to help him put everything away.

“Ya nerds drink way too much coffee,” Stan grumbled. “So what are ya working on?”

“I’m making a portable personal computer,” Fiddleford said proudly.

Maybe Stan would be more interested in it than his brother. Stanford hadn’t actually said it, but Fiddleford suspected the man thought his work was a waste of his talent or something.

“Why would you need a portable computer?” Stan asked.

“Well I have this idea… I want to make it able to receive signals… like a radio, but more complex. Then people will be able to send writing and eventually maybe even photos and more through it.”

He glanced at Stanley nervously, waiting to see what he thought. The man mulled it over for a few seconds his fingers tapping his chin and then gave a small hum.

“Doesn’t seem like a bad idea.”

“Really!?”

Fiddleford was surprised. Of all the people he knew, Stan seemed one of the more likely to laugh. And he had been certainly laughed down by a number of his colleges.

“Yeah,” Stan said with a nod. “I mean I can’t really see myself using one, but nerds like you and my brother always need a place to store things and it would probably make it easier to work together more, right?”

“Yes! Exactly!” Fiddleford said, a trill of excitement running through him. Stanley understood!

Stan hummed slightly, eyes unfocused.

After a moment he grinned and said, “Ya know, when you’re finished I can help ya sell the thing.”

“Really?” Fiddleford asked.

“Sure. Sca-Selling things is the only thing I’m really good at. I’ve just never had good stuff to sell in the past,” He said with a shrug.

“That and not many people want to hire a guy like me,” He added softly.

The last part was almost inaudible and likely not meant to be heard, but Fiddleford felt a twinge of empathy. He moved over to Stan and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey.”

Stan turned to look at him that blank expression back in place. A mask… or a shield really, Fiddleford realized.

“Honestly, I think you’re quite talented.”

Before he could continue Stanley sighed. Eyes narrowing slightly as if he had heard something like that before.

“Look ya don’t need to lie ta make me feel better. ‘K?” He said roughly, turning away.

Fiddleford felt a warm flush of annoyance go through him at being dismissed before he could even say his piece, so he moved around the bigger man, set his feet and stared straight into Stan’s surprised eyes.

“Now listen here, Stanley Pines, don’t you go accusing me of being a liar! And don’t ya go talking yerself down like that, neither. If it weren’t for you, Stanford and I would’ve been in a heck of a lot more trouble... Ya said ya can sell things even if they aren’t no good? Excelent! That’s a skill I envy. Lord knows I can’t sell water to a man in the desert. Ya know cars well, too. Not just anyone can do those repairs ya told me about.”

Fiddleford took a step forward.

“Yer smart, Stanley,” He said pocking a finger at Stan’s chest. “I can tell. I don’t let no one insult my friends and that includes them… Got it?”

Stan’s mouth formed a little “o” of surprise as he leaned back a little bit. After a moment of just staring at Fiddleford he started laughing. Fiddleford glared at him as he doubled over nearly in tears. He had been making a point and did not appreciate being laughed at.

“Sorry,” Stan said snickering, when he finally got it back together. He wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye.

“I was not expecting that from you.”

Fiddleford tapped his foot.

“Really!” Stan said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “I thought you were this quiet polite guy, but, no, there’s definitely some spunk in there.”

He slapped Fiddleford on the back throwing him off balance for a moment. Fiddleford sighed.

“Glad you’re feeling better,” He grumbled, folding his arms.

“Oh, much better,” Stan said throwing his arm over Fiddleford’s shoulder.

“I can tell you and I will get along just swell.”


	6. A Suspicious Angle  (In which everyone is thinking about geometry)

After Fiddleford left, Stanford assumed a cross-legged position on his meditation rug. He found meditation to be one of the more effective ways to quickly enter the dreamscape. Ironically though he was excellent at meditating, if he lay down in bed to try to enter the mindscape by falling asleep his mind would be far too distracted and it could take him hours or he might even fail completely.

After sitting silently for several minutes the room faded to gray.

_“Heya, IQ. How’s it going? What’s on your mind? Aside from me, of course.”_

_Stanford smiled at the friendly triangle. Nervousness started to well up in him over the request he was preparing to make._

_“It’s going fine… There’s just one thing… Fiddleford wants to meet you.”_

_Bill sighed._

_“I thought I told you to not tell him about me.”_

_“I didn’t mean to. I accidentally mentioned someone was helping me find all those statues and images of you and he wanted to know who it was. I think he’s suspected for a while.” Stanford said, anxious to make sure his muse wasn’t disappointed._

_“I guess I should have known that it would be too hard. You humans are social animals after all. Still, I really thought you would be better at keeping a secret,” Bill said twirling his cane, seemingly lost in thought._

_Stanford felt a warm flush of shame crawl up his cheeks. Bill thought so highly of him and he had let him down. Bill seemed to notice his distress and floated over to him. The small triangle looped an arm over his shoulder and flicked his noise. Stanford shoved at him a little in annoyance causing the triangle to float away with a cackle._

_“You know our relationship is very important to me right?”_

_Stanford blinked at Bill serious tone._

_“Of-of course,” He stuttered._

_The triangle regarded him silently for several minutes. About when Stanford started to squirm he spoke again._

_“I know you want to be able to talk about everything to little human friend, but I really just don’t want anything coming in between us or getting in the way of what you can accomplish,” Bill said looking at Stanford with sincerity in his eye._

_The triangle tended to joke around a lot and make rather… well creepy remarks a lot of the time, so it was rather odd to see him so serious. Stanford swallowed a lump in his throat._

_“I’m really sorry, but maybe it would be good to let them know? I mean if they only know what they observe they’ll get suspicious and they might come to the wrong conclusion,” He said hesitantly._

_Doubts started to crawl into his mind. Bill always was looking out for him. He always told Stanford how proud of him he was and how he knew Stanford was destined for great things, to change the world even. He was the most supportive person in his life. Was it really right of Stanford to second guess his judgement like this?_

_Bill’s sigh drew his attention back up. The triangle had a somewhat hurt but resigned expression._

_“I understand where you’re coming from. If it makes you feel better you can tell them,” He said._

_“Really?” Stanford was surprised._

_Bill nodded._

_“Use your judgement. I won’t stop you. Just…” Bill hesitated, drifting away a little._

_“I’m a little worried that they won’t get the whole body sharing thing we have going on… I mean if they have trouble understanding you, how can they possibly understand me? They’ll just think I’m an evil demon or something and try to get rid of me.”_

_Bill was slightly turned away from Stanford, so he couldn’t see the triangle’s expression, but he could easily picture it. He knew the fear of rejection far too well._

_“I’ll be careful,” He promised. “If I have any doubts I won’t tell them. I won’t let you down.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_The moment passed and Bill seemed to cheer up again._

_“So to show you my gratitude, how’s I tell you a joke.”_

_“Bill,” Stanford groaned._

_The triangle’s jokes were always ether really morbid or gross, but he smiled slightly. It was good to see that Bill was back to his usual self and seemed to have forgiven him._

* * *

Stanford wandered back upstairs slowly. He was a little stiff from sitting on the floor for so long. As he neared the door to the kitchen, he paused. He could hear Fiddleford and Stanley talking in the other room. Honestly he was surprised that neither of them had tried to force him to come upstairs yet. They seemed very insistent that he got outside daily and actually slept on his bed rather than wherever he happened to collapse once he got tired enough.

They were laughing over something that Stan had said. Stanford hesitated outside the door, unsure of whether he should enter or not. When the two drifted into a comfortable silence, Stanford reached his hand out to the doorknob.

“Fiddleford?”

Stanford paused at his brother’s voice.

“Yes?”

“So… I was wondering… Uh… that is, I just wanted to know…”

Stanford could picture Fiddlefored’s patient expression as Stanley stumbled over his words.

“What do you think of the portal?” Stanley finally blurted out.

There was a rather prolonged silence.

“Why are you asking?” Fiddleford said finally.

“Um… no reason… It’s not like I’m scared of it or anything…”

Stanley laughed awkwardly and Stanford could picture his eyes darting around looking for a way to escape the conversation.

“Is there any particular reason it bothers you?” Fiddleford asked.

Stanley gave a little sigh.

“Fine… I’m just not sure it’s a good idea… okay? I mean humans suck at getting along with other humans… How are we gunna do with aliens or whatever’s in the other dimension? That aside… something about it just gives me the creeps…”

“Have you talked with Stanford about this?” Fiddleford asked gently.

He hadn’t. Stanford felt a tinge of annoyance that Stanley would go behind his back, instead of just telling him.

“No,” Stanley admitted. “He just seems so happy about this. I don’t want to get in the way.”

Stanford blinked. Still curious, but deciding it was better that he didn’t overhear any more, he backtracked to the basement door and deliberately stepped on a creaky floorboard. He could hear the two in the other room go quiet.

Stanford entered the kitchen and gave them what he hoped was a natural smile.

“Good morning… I mean afternoon,” He said.

“Bout time you came upstairs,” Stanley drawled, showing no sign that he had been talking about Ford just seconds ago.

“Yeah… Figured I needed some fresh air… Mind if I snag you Fidds?”

Darn it. Now he was using the nickname.

Fiddleford glanced at him curiously.

“What’s up?”

“Would you mind coming with me to the library. I’d like to talk to you about the thing we discussed earlier,” Ford said.

Stanley gave him a curious look.

“Sure,” Fiddleford said, stretching as he stood up from the chair.

“I could use a break from this anyway.”

He turned and glanced at the computer parts spread out on the table then fixed Stanley in a stern look.

“Don’t touch anything.”

Stanley gave him a little mock salute.

* * *

“So you’re going to tell me about this mysterious person you’re working with?” Fiddleford asked as they drove along.

“A little, but he’s a rather private person,” Stanford said.

He hesitated, Bill’s warnings echoing through his head.

“He’s an energy being,” Stanford said, finally.

Bill was right, Fiddleford wouldn’t handle the whole body-sharing thing well.

“A muse. He visits me in my dreams. He helps me out when I get stuck on a problem.”

That seemed like a good enough explanation.

“So what’s up with all the statues and stuff?” Fiddleford asked eyes narrowed a little.

“Um,” He actually wasn’t sure how to answer that one.

“It sets the mood for meditating…” He said hopefully.

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow, obviously not buying it. If he hadn’t been driving he probably would have folded his arms.

“I guess I just think he’s really cool… Can we talk about something else?” Stanford said, feeling rather uncomfortable.

* * *

Stan sighed as he wandered around the house aimlessly. He was never really sure what he was supposed to do when he was left there by himself. Back when he was on his own he usually had something he working on. Either he was planning his next big break, running from someone or just plain trying to find some food. It was very weird living in one place after so long. After a moment he decided to wander down to the basement to see if there was any work left for him to do there.

He didn’t know why he did it, but when he reached the elevator, instead of going to the portal room, he pressed the key for floor two. The elevator opened in front of a door. Absently he put his foot in front of the elevator’s sliding doors, so that they wouldn’t close. He reached out and jiggled the handle… locked.

He really should have moved on at that point, he knew he had no business prying into Sixer’s things, but the curiosity was overwhelming. He crouched down and dug around in his shoe until he fished out a set of lock picks. He had a few other sets sown into various pieces of clothing, but he generally kept those for when he was doing more risky jobs.

_I really shouldn’t be doing this,_ He thought as he slipped the lock picks into the key hole.

The door opened very easily. He stepped slowly into the room and the elevator doors slid shut behind him making him jump. He glanced back for a moment before turning his attention back to the room before him.

It appeared that his brother was in some sort of cult. There were an unnerving number of pictures of eyes watching him from every corner of the room. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and goose bumps form on his skin.

After a moment he moved across the room, his attention drawn by a large book that lay open on the desk. Marking the spot with his finger he closed the book so he could get a look at the cover. It was a six fingered gold hand with a number “3” written on it. One of Stanford’s research journals, he realized. He saw Stanford writing in them often, but had never really had a chance to take a look in one. Stanford tended to keep them to himself. Keeping the place marked he flipped through it. There were all sorts of magical creatures. Some were new to him, some he had seen with Stanford on their expeditions.

He was about to put down the journal when one of the pages caught his eye. It was the image of a triangle with a single eye and a top hat…

Just like the figure that was all over the room. The feeling of being watched increased tenfold, but he didn’t put the book down. Instead his eyes traced over the words.

_“Bill has proven himself to be one of the friendliest and most trustworthy individuals that I’ve ever encountered in my life. What a guy! I honestly can’t trust him more. Not evil in any way, Bill is a true gentleman.”_

He almost scoffed out loud at that description. His eyes jumped to the other page, eyebrows going up at the image of the triangle apparently entering someone’s head.

He was about to read more when he thought he heard someone whisper something behind him. He spun around, nearly dropping the journal, but no one was there.

Trying to calm his breathing he carefully set the journal down on the desk, taking great care to leave it exactly as he found it.

He slipped out of the room back into the elevator re-locking the door behind him.

As soon as he got out of the elevator, he bolted upstairs, out of the house and into his car. The creepy feeling of being watch clung to his skin like a cold mist, but he felt safer in his trusty Diablo. His arms were actually shaking a little. Why, after all the things he had been through, was that room so unnerving?

His mind slipped back to what he had managed to read from the journal page. He knew that all the things that his brother documented in his journals were either real or things he was currently investigating. So what was up with this creature in particular?

An image of the room, full of eyes, surfaced in his thoughts. Followed by the picture of the creature entering someone’s mind.

He shuddered. This really didn’t set right with him. He had stayed alive as long as he had because he listened to his gut instinct. Right now there were a lot of warning alarms going off.

What was his brother doing with this creature? Was he letting it into his head? Call him paranoid, but that seemed like a bad idea. Was this related to the portal somehow? He really wanted to ask Ford about it, but he had been trespassing into his brother’s private study. He wasn’t sure how much his brother was really willing to forgive.

He let out a shuttering breath and leaned against the steering wheel, relishing the familiar confines of his car. He had a feeling he wouldn’t sleep well tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This decision will totally not come back to haunt him…


	7. Here there be Dragons

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Stan asked as he and Ford crept a little closer to the sleeping dragon.

The creature was about the size of Stanford’s house. It was coiled into a tight ball in an indent in the ground. Its sides rose and fell rhythmically. Every time it exhaled the ground vibrated under them. Who would have suspected that dragons snored too?

“There’s no such thing as a bad idea,” Ford said distractedly. “Only ideas with unpleasant results.”

“See, that’s where you and I differ. That is exactly what I define as a bad idea,” Stan whispered back.

“Isn’t it beautiful,” Ford said as he slipped a little farther forward to get a better look at the creature.

That was actually true. Even Stan who was a little distracted by the saber like claws and sharp teeth, couldn’t help but agree. The dragon was sleek and powerful like a mix between a serpent and a wildcat. Its scales were an iridescent purple that shifted in color slightly depending on the angle. It was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

“I must get some of its scales,” Ford muttered softly to himself.

“Sixer…” Stan said nerviously.

It was too late, Stanford was already making his way slowly down the incline that lead into its nest. Stan sighed and followed behind him. Once they were about ten or so feet from the dragon, Stanford started picking up scales from the thick moss that lined the ground around the dragon. Since it hadn’t woken up yet, Stan crept a little closer to get a better look at it. It was actually kind of cool to be this close to a real live dragon.

A glint of something yellow caught his sight and he edged forward to get a better look. Just under the edge of the dragon’s paws was a beautiful gold necklace, its circular pendent was inlaid with diamonds, rubies and some sort of orange crystal. The gems made it look like there was fire flickering over the surface of it.

He had to have it.

Stan slowly crept closer, taking great care to move as silently as possible. Once he was right beside it, Stan took a moment to observe and plan how to get the necklace without waking the beast. Since it was laying on moss he could probably press the moss down and pull it out fairly easily. He crouched down and slowly eased it out. He had to clamp down on the noise of excitement that almost left his throat when he succeeded.

He clasped the necklace around his neck and had started to turn to go back towards Stanford when he spotted another glint of gold a little ways away. He glanced back at his brother for a moment before moving towards it. Suddenly his foot struck something solid and curved. Stan nearly fell over but managed to regain his balance.

He looked down to see what he had stepped on. It was the dragon’s tail. Stan let out a series of curses before he felt something shift beside him. He slowly looked up to find that the dragon’s eyes were open. They were a very beautiful burgundy, like rich wine, he noted in a detached sort of way.

The moment was broken when the dragon let out a low growl. Stan spun on his heel and yelled for Ford to run, scrambling up the embankment as the dragon lunged for him and narrowly missed. The ground shook from the force of the blow. He glanced to his right and noticed that Ford was struggling but making steady progress. Fortunately for his brother, the dragon was focused solely on Stan at the moment.

Stan weaved out of the way of another strike and slide back downhill a little. He was now right under the dragon’s head. He froze up for a second, entranced like a mouse before a serpent. The dragon drew its head back and…

A rock bounced off the side of its snout hitting just under its eyes. When the dragon turned to look for the offender, Stan managed to make the final scramble up the bank. Heading in Ford’s direction as fast as his legs could carry him.

“Thanks for the save,” Stan panted when he caught up to his brother.

“No problem,” Ford said, equally breathless.

They made it into the trees which greatly slowed down the dragon. Stan glanced back to see how far it was behind them.

Suddenly the ground dropped out from under him. Stan let out a yelp of surprise as he began to roll really fast. There was an abrupt painful jolt and he came to a stop. He heard a groan and tilted his head to get a glimpse of his brother laying sprawled out beside him.

“That could have gone better,” Stan said with a grunt, trying to get back up to his feet.

“On the contrary I think that actually went surprisingly well,” Ford replied.

Stan quirked an eyebrow at him. His brother looked something like a scarecrow right now. He had twigs sticking out of his clothes, backpack and hair. There were scratches and bruises all over his arms and a small crack in the right lens of his glasses. No doubt Stan looked just as bad.

“By ‘it went well’ you mean we’re both still alive,” Stan grumbled, reaching up to pull a twig out of his ponytail.

He was beginning to regret keeping his hair long. It got tangled in everything. He glanced up the large hill they had just rolled down. Actually it was so steep that it was really more of a cliff. It was dotted with a nice mix of thorn bushes, rocks and trees.

“I’m surprised the dragon hasn’t come down after us yet,” Ford said, choosing to ignore Stan’s comment.

Stan glanced up at the sky warily.

“Yeah… let’s get moving before it has a chance to change its mind.”

When Ford didn’t respond Stan glanced over and saw, to his annoyance, that Ford had his journal out and was trying to sketch the beast. An involuntary shutter went down his back at the sight of the book.

“Now is not a good time, Sixer,” He said keeping his voice low.

“Now is the best time,” Stanford responded absentmindedly. “I create my best drawings when the creature’s still fresh in my mind.”

Stan looked up as a shadow passed overhead.

“A nice drawing is going to be rather unimportant if we get burnt to a crisp,” He pointed out, feeling his heartrate increase.

Why didn’t he bring his gun with him? Oh, right, because _someone_ thought he would get trigger-happy and kill some rare specimen. Frankly he was a lot more concerned about one of the rare specimens killing _him_.

“Come on,” He said, tugging at Stanford’s arm as the creature circling above the trees let out a roar.

Stanford jerked his arm loose from Stan’s grip and resumed sketching, tongue sticking slightly out of his mouth. He did however oblige Stan slightly, by getting up and starting to slowly amble farther into the trees.

Stan glanced back just in time to see the dragon circle around low at such an angle that he got a very good look at it. Shit, they just made eye contact. The dragon didn’t roar this time, instead it began to glide swiftly and silently toward them. Stan’s pulse pounded frantically in his ears and his breath came in fast shallow gasps. Now in flight mode, he grabbed Ford’s wrist and began to run as fast as he could, half dragging, half leading his brother.

He heard Ford yell something at him, but he didn’t register it. It felt like there was cotton in his ears, all he could hear was his heart. The dragon roared again, no longer trying to be silent now that its prey was on the run. It began crashing through the tree tops trying to get at them. There was a loud crack and….

_The bullet whizzed narrowly by him, glazing his cheek. Stan picked up his pace. Fuck! At this rate they were going to get him. He needed to get somewhere with more cover. His gripped tightened on the briefcase that was the source of all this trouble. Was it really worth it? It was too late to think about that at this point._

He stumbled over a loose root and nearly went down, but pure adrenaline forced him back up.

_Who knew what they would do if they caught him. The thought made him run even faster, pushing his aching burning muscles to keep moving._

There was a small cave ahead. Stan angled toward it.

_He dove into the open doorway, pulling the door shut behind him. He leaned against it, trying to quiet his breathing as the thudding of footsteps and the shouting of voices grew louder._

“Stanley!”

_The door was shaking as someone tried to get through…_

No… That wasn’t the door. He was pressed up against cold stone and someone was shaking his shoulder.

“Stanley?” The voice questioned, quivering slightly.

Stan blinked. His brother was in front of him, face pale. Stanford’s glasses were askew and there were thin red lines on his face from running into branches. His eyes were wide and fearful. One of his hand was on Stan’s shoulder.

When Stan managed to finally focus on him, he saw Ford’s shoulders relax a little. They tensed up again as a roar rang through the air and the cave wall rattled. That’s right. They had been escaping the dragon before he…

“Stanley, please let go of my hand,” Ford said, interrupting his thoughts.

Stan glanced down and realized he had a death grip on his brother’s wrist. He quickly released it, wincing as he saw there was a bruise already forming.

“Sorry,” He muttered.

There was probably no way he could make this worse.

* * *

Stanford rubbed his wrist absently. A pins-and-needles sensation started as circulation returned to his hand. No doubt it would swell if he didn’t get ice on it soon and with that dragon outside it was going to be a while.

Fortunately the cave that Stan had lead them into was small enough that the dragon couldn’t fit inside and deep enough that the flames couldn’t reach them, so they could wait it out. That was assuming the dragon didn’t just decide to wait outside for them. He didn’t really know how long a dragon’s attention span was.

But that wasn’t what he was really focused on right now. Stanford watched silently as his brother slid slowly down the cave wall to the floor. His legs were shaking hard and his breath was still fast. He wouldn’t look at Ford.

Stanley had been acting strange all week. When Stanford had come home from talking with Fiddleford about Bill, he had found Stanley just sitting in his car, rather pale and twitchy. He wouldn’t tell Stanford what was wrong, but all week he kept watching Ford warily like he was expecting him to snap at any moment. He also did not seem to be sleeping well, judging by the dark bags that had formed under his eyes.

Stan was still shaking, so Stanford moved closer and sat down beside him, grimacing as the rocks dug into his tailbone. He rested his back against the cave wall and stared up into the darkness above them.

“Sorry for not listening to you when you told me to wait to draw the dragon. I get a little excited sometimes and forget about the danger.”

Beside him Stan gave a little grunt, then sighed.

“I’m really sorry about going crazy on you there. Didn’t mean to hurt your arm like that. I’m also really sorry about waking the dragon in the first place.”

“I forgive you,” Stanford said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

He cracked a little smile.

“I guess that makes us even.”

He really did want to know what had happened to Stanley though. Partway through their escape from the dragon, he had started acting… strange. He wouldn’t respond to Stanford. It wasn’t as if he was choosing not to even, it was more like Stanford had somehow ceased to exist for him. He couldn’t be heard anymore. When they were in the cave Stanley had leaned hard against the wall, still gripping Stanford as if his life depended upon not letting go, his eyes were focused on something Stanford couldn’t see. When Ford had tried to rouse him by shaking him, Stanley looked like he was about to sock him for a moment.

He really did want to understand what was happening with his brother. He just had no idea how to go about it.

They sat there in silence for a while. Gradually Stanley stopped shaking and his breathing evened out.

“So how are we gunna get out of here?” Stanley finally asked. “I’d wager that beast is still waiting outside the cave.”

“We could risk it I suppose,” Stanford said. “Or we could venture farther into the cave and hope that it leads out…”

“Well, I don’t want to waste my time wandering in no cave,” Stanley said getting up.

He walked swiftly to the entrance before Stanford had a chance to say anything. There was a loud roar and jet of flame nearly singed off his ponytail. Stan retreated quickly.

“Ya know… I think I’m in the mood for some spelunking.”


	8. In which Long Ignored Issues Rise to the Surface

 

> "Family quarrels are bitter things. They don’t go according to any rules. They’re not like aches or wounds, they’re more like splits in the skin that won’t heal because there’s not enough material." 

_F. Scott Fitzgerald_

* * *

 

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Stan asked.

“Not really,” Ford said. “But I definitely felt some air coming from this direction which is a good sign.”

They’d been walking for about an hour now and Stan was getting very bored. The cave was all blank grey walls and darkness. Nothing interesting to look at just the patter of their feet and the heavy silence. He was actually starting to almost wish something would attack them to relieve his boredom. He had decided against commenting that to Ford.

Just then the sound of their footsteps changed, the echo becoming fading slightly ahead of them. The air felt fresher as well.

“We must be coming to the exit or at least a bigger cave,” Ford said with a relieved smile.

“Bout time,” Stan said, picking up his pace a little.

Hopefully they would come out somewhere near the house. Stan was all adventured out for the day. A nice shower and a cold can of beer sounded nice about now.

About another ten feet ahead of them the tunnel forked one offshoot went left and the other widened into a large cavern. Stan moved forward quickly it would definitely nice to be out of the close confines of the tunnel. He nearly ran into Ford when his brother stopped suddenly in front of him.

“I’ve been here before,” Ford said.

Stan followed the beam of Ford’s flashlight and saw paintings on the cave wall. They were rather primitive. To their right was an image of what looked like a compass symbol and an angel. There were other lines and symbols around that Stan could not decipher. He followed Ford out of the little cove they were in into the main area of the room.

“I never really explored this back passage,” Ford said thoughtfully.

Stan shined his light on the walls looking for other images. Who knew? Maybe there was a map leading to treasure or something.

His breath caught in his throat when his light beam fell on a very familiar image. Staring down at him from the wall was the triangle with the top hat. This time it was surrounded by people bowing down to it. And to its right, it was hard to tell with the stick figures, but it looked like they had been killed. Various monsters danced among them.

Stan felt a shudder run down his spine.

“What’s this one?” He asked Ford, carefully keeping his voice level.

“What one?”

He heard his brother’s footsteps approaching, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off the image. Somehow he felt safer that way.

“Oh, that…” Ford said from beside him.

Ford cleared his throat and out of the corner of his eye Stan saw him start to play with his fingers.

“I haven’t got around to studying that one.”

“You certainly have an awful lot of pictures of it, for not knowing anything,” Stan remarked.

Stan kind of thought the image moved a little, but that was likely just his imagination.

“How do you know that?”

Stan was yanked back to reality by the suspicious tone to Ford’s voice. He turned to see his brother watching him through narrowed eyes. _Oh, boy._

“I most definitely didn’t go into your study,” Stan said, laughing nervously.

Shit! He needed to know when to shut up. He sucked at lying when he was feeling cornered.

“You went into my study?!” Stanford said.

He took a step away from Stan his eyebrows lowering a little and nose wrinkling.

“I keep the door locked. You would have had to break in! Why would you break in to one of my rooms?”

“Well you certainly didn’t lock it that well….” Stan said, trying to joke a little.

“I shouldn’t have had to. Why can’t you mind your own business?”

That stung a little, though Stan wasn’t sure why.

“Well maybe if you weren’t in some _sinister_ cult you wouldn’t have anything to hide! What’s so great about that creepy triangle anyway?”

“That’s none of your business,” Ford said taking a step forward, fists clenched. “Bill has been far more supportive of me than you ever have been.”

That felt like a punch to the gut. Stan curled his lip into an almost snarl and squared his shoulders.

“Well maybe if I hadn’t been fucking kicked out of our home when I was a freaking kid I could have been,” He spat back at his brother.

“That wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t messed with my science fair project and cost me my dream school!” Ford yelled.

He stopped talking very abruptly, eyes widening a little and fists loosening, but Stan wasn’t about to let him off that easily.

“That was an accident. I’ve more than payed for that. It’s not like you even cared enough to try looking for me,” He spat back.

They dropped into an abrupt silence.

“Let’s find the exit,” Ford said in a rather flat voice. “It’s not far from here. Fiddleford’s probably worried about us.”

“Yeah,” Stan agreed voice equally emotionless.

Before he fell into step behind Ford he cast one more look back at the picture of Bill. He wished he had never laid eyes on the cursed thing.

* * *

Stanley didn’t say anything during the walk back home. Every once in a while Stanford would cast a glance at him and see that he was very carefully not looking at Stanford.

Ford really wished he hadn’t said those things. Yeah, he was still mad at Stan for breaking into his study, but that was no reason to bring up him being kicked out of the house. At the moment he had been mad about what Stan had said about Bill and just wanted to make his brother hurt too.

And he had succeeded.

Stanford sighed. He rubbed his forehead to try to soothe the mounting headache. Why did things have to be so complicated?

* * *

Fiddleford heard the front door open and closed the back of his computer. He glanced up at the clock. Wow, it was already seven. He’d been really caught up in his work.

Fiddleford got up from the table and stretched, his long limbs released a symphony of pops. As much as he loved the brothers and enjoyed their company, it was nice to have some time to himself. Anyway, it would help them to work out their issues. Going off on adventures.

He walked toward the front door. Before he could even get into the entry hall Stan passed him. He disappeared up the stairs without even saying “Hi”. Above him Fiddleford heard a door slam.

Feeling a lot more hesitant and concerned now, Fiddleford waited for Stanford to approach. His friend looked like he had rolled down a cliff or something. His glasses were even cracked and he was all scraped up, but Fiddleford was more concerned about why Stan had disappeared and why Ford wouldn’t look at him.

His shoulders were hunched and his hands were deep into his pockets.

“Hey, Stanford,” Fiddleford said gently.

When he didn’t receive a response he approached him and gently laid a hand on his shoulder.

“What happened?” He asked, carefully keeping his voice soft.

“We got into a fight,” Stanford said with a sigh as Fiddleford led him to the kitchen table.

“Yeah?”

Fiddleford poured him a glass of water. Which he accepted gratefully as he took a seat at the table.

“I found out he broke into my study. I was upset. But I shouldn’t have said those things to him,” Ford said.

He toyed restlessly with the glass, watching his fingers.

“You should go talk to him.”

“I know,” Ford said with a sigh. “I just don’t know what to say. The worst part is that I believed most of it to some extent, just not in the way that I said it. What if he hates me now?”

He was scratching and tugging rather hard at his sixth finger on his left hand now. Fiddleford reached out and stopped him.

“Talk to him,” Fiddleford said waiting until Stanford met his gaze. “You guys need to work this out. This is really your best opportunity…”

He paused for a moment a sad little smile creasing his lips.

“And trust me Stanford, he doesn’t hate you.”

“How do you know?” Ford mumbled, sounding like a little kid for a moment.

His eyes were fixed firmly on the table.

“Because when I talk to him he worries about you, he’s not going to stop caring about you just because you two got in a spat.”

“Okay…” Ford said talking a shaky little breath.

He nodded. “I’ll talk to him first thing in the morning. He probably wants some time to get himself together.”

“Good,” Fiddleford said leaning back in his chair. “This won’t be easy, but I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Stanford said with a little smile.


	9. Shadows in the Kitchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I advise listening to "How To Save a Life" while you read this for extra feels.

The owl hooted outside Stan’s window again. He watched as its dark shape flitted by silhouetted in the moonlight. Beside him his clock ticked the seconds away steadily. He rolled over, allowing himself a slight groan at his soreness. Stan fumbled around blindly for a moment almost upsetting the water glass on his nightstand. Eventually he found a lighter and lit the lamp beside his bed. He squinted at the sudden brightness before reaching for the clock. It was a little after midnight.

Stan sat up with a sigh. He wasn’t going to sleep tonight. He crept silently across his room and took a moment to remove the chair from in front of the door. The descent down the stairs was slow, but he managed to not cause any boards to creak.

As Stan rounded the end of the stairwell, he saw a flickering yellow light coming from the kitchen. Curious yet cautious, he began to creep slowly toward it. Keeping his head low, he peered around the corner. It was Ford sitting at the table. His brother was writing in his journal, a lone candle lighting the room.

_He really shouldn’t be up this late_ , Stan thought. Then again Stan shouldn’t be either. Was Ford as bothered by the argument as he was?

Stan took a step and a loose floorboard let out a long tired groan under his foot. He froze, heart beating rapidly even though he knew he had nothing to fear. Silence hung heavy for a moment.

“You can come out,” Stanford said.

“Hey…” Stan said sheepishly as he entered the kitchen.

He almost sat down at the table, but hesitated. Today’s events circled around his head, whispering condemnation in a thousand tiny voices.

“Hey, Ford?” Stan asked hesitantly.

His brother didn’t respond, his pen continued to flit over the paper, its soft scratching the only sound. Stan swallowed, squashing down his pride and pulling up the courage to talk.

“About today,” Stan said.

He sighed and rubbed at his forearm.

“I’m really sorry about that. I really should never have broken into your study and I shouldn’t have said the things I did.”

For a moment there was no response. The house softly groaned in the night wind and a spider skittered across the table. Stan felt naked and vulnerable. He wanted to snap at his brother, to rush the response, but he kept silent.

“Yet it happened none the less,” Ford said finally.

He closed the journal with a loud snap, causing Stan to jump. Stan wanted to say something, but he felt his voice dying away in his throat at Ford’s expression. The lines of his face were tired… disappointed.

“The fact is that ‘sorry’ does not change what you did,” Ford continued.

Stanford leaned back in the chair and removed his glasses, cleaning them with a cloth that he pulled out from his pocket. He put them back on and the lenses reflected the candlelight. Shadows flickered over his face. For a moment Stan thought of their father. The way he made a young Stanley feel about an inch tall when he called him in for one of his “talks”.

“It seems that there are some rather important things you didn’t tell us about your past, as well,” Stanford said.

His voice cold and flat. One of his hands tapped rhythmically on the table.

“I have a right to know if I’m harboring a _criminal_.”

The last word was spat like a curse. Stan looked away, shame crawling warmly up his face and forming a cold pit in his stomach.

“Why… How?”

Stanford gave a derisive snort.

“It wasn’t hard to find out. I ran a little back ground check before you got here. Turns out you’ve done some rather… unsavory things. I gave you a chance because I thought maybe if you had a home you could move forward. Change your ways…”

Stanford sighed. “I guess I should have known a leopard couldn’t change its spots.”

“Please… What do you want from me?” Stan asked.

He hated the begging tone in his voice, the desperation and fear that hunched his shoulders. He was beginning to think that maybe he didn’t know his brother anymore.

Stanford finally looked at him, his eyes reflected yellow in the candle-light, the rest of his face was cast into dark moving shadows.

“Nothing…”

“Nothing?”

Stan felt the cold fear that had been pooling in his gut reach up to close around his throat.

Stanford sighed, “Look I’ve given you a second chance. When you saved me and Fiddleford, I thought that maybe you were different. I was right. You’re worse now. A criminal… A liar…  Your invasion of my study shows this won’t change. Honestly I’m ashamed to call you my brother.”

It felt like Stan had been shot in the chest. His heart lurched painfully and he stared at the man before him in shock. His eyes burned. He couldn’t breathe.

“D.. do you want me to… to leave?” The question came out as a childish whimper, a soft croak past the lump in his windpipe.

“That would be nice,” Stanford said reopening his journal.

Stan wanted to be angry, he wanted to yell and scream, but he couldn’t. He felt like something inside him had broken, leaving him empty and dead. He couldn’t even cry.

“I’ll pack my things,” He said softly.

Stanford didn’t deign look at him as Stan turned toward the stairs. After he arrived in his room he just stared at his bed for a moment before collapsing to the floor. The tears finally flowed down his face and he sobbed silently, wretchedly.

He didn’t know how long he was there, but when the tears stopped flowing he got up and mechanically started to pack his bags. There wasn’t really that much. When he was done he stripped the bed, no point making more work for Fiddleford in the morning.

Fiddleford…

Stan had come to like the man. He was a friend. He should really say goodbye, but he couldn’t face him. No doubt Ford had told him what had happened. He couldn’t take seeing Fiddleford’s disappointment as well. Stan’s eyes fell on a little piece of paper by his bed. A photo of him, Stanford and Fiddleford taken only a week ago. Stan was between them with an arm looped around each of their shoulders, they were all grinning. After a moment of hesitation he wrote a note on the back of it, he would slip it under Fiddleford’s door when he left.

He heaved the suitcase over his shoulder and took one last look at the room. It had really started to feel like home. With a shuttering breath he turned and left.

Stanford was gone by the time he passed the kitchen. That was fine, Stan told himself. He crossed the dark yard and slipped into his car, sitting in silence for a moment before turning the engine on.


	10. Confusion and Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments last chapter. It was a lot of fun to read them. You guys keep me motivated.

Stanford awoke feeling far more rested than usual. When Bill had come to him at the beginning of the night, Ford had asked his muse to let him sleep normally. He was very tired from the events of the day and wanted the oblivion of deep sleep to escape from the doubts that plagued his thoughts.

Honestly he had forgotten just how nice it was to actually sleep for once. He stretched and then wandered downstairs to see what Stan had made for breakfast. When he got there the kitchen was quiet and empty. No coffee even. 

Maybe Stan hadn’t been able to fall asleep. Stanford’s stomach clenched slightly. He really should have just talked to Stan last night instead of waiting.

He fumbled through the cupboards and got the coffee pot going. Once the aromatic smell of the coffee had permeated the house Fiddleford emerged from his room. His hair was flattened on one side and sticking up on the other and his shirt was half tucked in. He took his usual seat at the table and blinked blearily as he stifled a yawn. Ford poured a cup of coffee for each of them and they sat at the table drinking it in silence, waiting for the caffeine to kick in.

Once he had finished his first cup of coffee Fiddleford looked around, eyes a little more open, and asked, “Where’s Stan?”

“I think he’s sleeping in,” Stanford said.

Fiddleford nodded. He poured himself a second cup of coffee and took a sip.

“So…”

“I know. I’ll talk to him first thing when I see him. I just don’t want to wake him up,” Stanford said quickly, cutting Fiddleford off.

Fiddleford stared at him for a moment. His eyes tracked across Stanford’s face and then one eyebrow wandered up.

“I was actually going to ask what you thought we should have for breakfast,” Fiddleford said slowly.

Stanford felt his face heat up. For a moment he entertained the fantasy that a Gremoblin might come grab him. He felt Fiddleford’s hand on his shoulder and looked up.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Fiddleford said with a small smile.

Ford met his eyes and returned it weakly.

“How’s about we go work on the portal until he gets up,” Fiddleford suggested.

“That sounds good.”

* * *

It was a very successful morning. Stanford and Fiddleford were able finish the portal’s internal wiring and circuitry and close up the front panel. At this point all that was really left was the programming.

“It would’ve been nice to have Stan hold up this plate while I welded it on,” Fiddleford commented.

“What you don’t trust my arm strength,” Ford said pouting.

Fiddleford rolled his eyes and wiped the oil off his hands.

“Why don’t we head upstairs? It’s almost lunch time and Stan is sure to be up by now,” He said.

Ford nodded and took a deep breath. He was a little hunched over and wringing his hands.  Fiddleford felt a twinge of sympathy in his chest. He knew well just how bad fights with family could be. He really wished there was more he could do for them.

When they arrived on the main floor Stanley was nowhere to be seen.

Fiddleford walked over to the window.

“His car’s gone. He must have gone out to get groceries.”

Ford shook his head with a wry smile and said, “I don’t remember what we did before we had him to take care of us.”

“Ate beans and canned meat and left the dishes until our sink developed an ecosystem,” Fiddleford said earning a little chuckle out of his friend.

Lunch passed rather silently with Stanford picking at his food and staring out the window for the majority of the meal. When they were done, Fiddleford wandered upstairs to collect the laundry. Everyone was about due for a wash and if Stan was the designated cook, Fiddleford was the designated laundryman. Anyway, it was a sunny day and Fiddleford had always appreciated having his clothes line-dried. Something about the smell was just really nice. It reminded him of home, now that he thought about it. A small smile drifted over his face at the thought of his family.

When he had collected his own clothes he went upstairs to get Stan’s. He always saved Ford’s for last because they were usually the smelliest. Who knew what the man got into?

Even though he knew Stan was out, he knocked on the door out of a habit before opening it. When the door slowly creaked open and revealed the room, Fiddleford felt his heart catch in his throat. The pleasant warmth that was in his chest vanished and the laundry basket landed on the floor with a soft thump.

* * *

Stanford was sitting at the kitchen table going over some programming notes for the portal. Bill had added on to them last night so he needed to reread them to see what his muse had changed. He was trying hard to ignore the growing feeling of unease in his gut.

“Stanford!”

Fiddleford’s voice had a scared ring to it. Ford bolted to his feet and charged upstairs hoping that some terrifying monster wasn’t trying to eat his assistant again. He rounded the corner and stopped when he saw Fiddleford standing outside the open door to Stanley’s room.

His face was pale and his hands where shaking little. He turned to look at Stanford’s puzzled face.

“He’s gone.”

Confused, Ford pushed up beside him and froze.

Stanley’s room was completely empty. Everything was gone, even the bed had been stripped. The sheets were in a neat pile waiting to be washed. A dozen possibilities ran through his head before his mind settled on the only one that fit.

His brother had left. He was too late.

* * *

_“Why the long face?”_

_Stanford looked around in surprise. He hadn’t even realized that he had fallen asleep. The day had passed in a rapid blur. He noted in a detached sort of way that his mindscape wasn’t as colorful as it usually was. All the floating objects seemed to drift about listlessly._

_“Hey, cheer up. You’re almost done with the portal,” Bill said floating over to lean on his shoulder._

_“I know,” Ford said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just…”_

_He released a growl of frustration and punched a dictionary that was floating by. There was pain, but it was a detached sort of feeling, like the memory of an injury._

_“I didn’t think that one argument would be the end. I should have spoken to him! I should have… should have…”_

_“There.. There…” Bill said patting him on the shoulder as he collapsed to his knees, “Look at me.”_

_He put a finger under Ford’s chin and tilted his head up._

_“I know this is hard for you, but people move on. This is probably for the best.”_

_“How can you say that?” Stanford said, a prickle of tears in his eyes._

_“Well, Stan doesn’t exactly like the whole portal thing… right?” Bill asked._

_Stanford nodded slowly remembering the conversation he overhead between Fiddleford and Stan._

_“It’s unfortunate you two had to part on such a note, but it’s really best for both of you. He doesn’t have to work on the portal which he’s uncomfortable with and you don’t have to put up with someone who’s against your work. Besides, if he left so easily, it’s likely he’s wanted to for a while. You need to respect his wishes.”_

_“But I really did want to get to know him again,” Stanford said softly, staring at one of his hands._

_Bill’s smaller one closed over it and he looked up to meet the triangle’s eye._

_“Don’t worry Sixer, you’ve still got me and I won’t be going anywhere… from now until the end of time.”_


	11. A Terrible Thing to Lose

The door slammed hard behind Fiddleford and he shoved a chair hard up against it. He tried desperately to settle his breathing before collapsing to the floor. He didn’t know what he’d seen in there but…

_The eyes! The Eye… They… it watching… Looking through… He was dissolving… He… He…_

Fiddleford curled into a tight ball, breaths coming in rapid shallow gasps. The static that lurked in his head kept threatening to overwhelm him. He had to get out of here.

His eyes searched around the room until they landed on a suitcase. He darted over and grabbed it with shaking hands. Frantically he shoved as much of his clothes and valuables into it as he could. He just wanted to get out of here.

His hands were shaking so badly that he dropped his wallet. As he bent down to retrieve it he noticed a piece of paper under the dresser. He grabbed it. It was a photo of Stan, Stanford and him. Their happiness in the photo seemed almost discordant compared to what had just happened.

Without thinking he flipped it over and stopped, breath catching in his throat. There was a note written on the back of it in Stan’s distinctive writing.

The writing was shaky and smudged. It read:

_Hey ~~Fidds~~ Fiddleford,_

_Sorry for not saying good-bye personally ~~I just didn’t I was~~ I didn’t want to wake you up. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you.  You’re a cool guy. It just seems me and ~~my bro~~ Stanford have a little too many differences and aren’t going to be able to work together anymore. I’m headed off toward the coast. I’ve got some friends who I can get some work with._

_Good luck,_

_Stan_

Fiddleford stared at the letter for a few seconds before a noise from downstairs snapped him out of it. He didn’t want to run into Stanford or, God forbid, _his friend_ right now. He grabbed his messily packed suitcase and fled the house.

He walked to his car at a brisk pace, occasionally jumping at the shadows, every nerve on alert. He reached into his pocket and brushed the photo.

Stan… The house had been so lifeless since he had been gone. Stanford would hardly talk and threw himself into his work twice as hard. Only sleeping or eating when Fiddleford forced him to. He thought maybe Stanford would be a little better after they tested the… the..

_A disk of glowing blue coming close… Eyes… moving shadows. No… No!_

He was crouched down on the ground whimpering like a wounded dog. He forced himself upright again. His muscles were taught and painful. Fiddleford dug his fingernails hard into his arms, trying to ground himself. He just wanted to forget. He needed help.

Stan…

Maybe… Maybe Stan could help him.

But he didn’t know were Stan was. Portland was a likely place, but it was huge. Maybe he could check were they first met Stanley. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the best he had.

* * *

After nearly crashing several times on the way into town, Fiddleford had realized it would be best for him to take the bus. He simply wasn’t stable enough to drive right now. The bus ride was long and nerve racking. He was glad the bus driver was a rather disinterested person, or he might have had more trouble.

When he arrived in Portland, he forced his way through the thick crowd as quickly he could. Occasionally someone would make eye contact with him and they would quickly avert their gaze and move aside. He tried not to think about that too much.

As he got closer to his destination, the crowds thinned. Fiddleford relaxed a hair, feeling like he could breathe easier now without all those people pressing against him. He kept close to the street, feeling safer where he could run if he needed to. Eventually he came to the alley were he and Stanford had met Stan. It was empty except for a dumpster and some scattered trash. He didn’t know what he had been expecting.

He took a few deep breaths in an attempt to clear the static so he could think. Madly rushing around wouldn’t help him. He needed information. Maybe a bar? It was fairly likely he’d get mugged, but it was worth a shot. He didn’t have much to lose at this point.

After wandering around for about a half hour or so he found a biker bar of some sort. He felt really out of place slinking in with a suitcase in tow. The bar tender’s eyes narrowed as he approached and he started to turn toward the bouncer. Fiddleford quickly pulled out his wallet, realizing that he was about to be kicked out.

“I’d like a whiskey,” He said.

It was a terrible idea to drink in his condition, but at this point he didn’t care. He just needed to be able to stay in the bar long enough to get some information. Assuming there was any to be had. The bartender accepted his money and poured him his drink. He took a sip and looked around the bar, wondering where to start. He really didn’t know what he was doing.

“Um… excuse me, sir…” Fiddleford said, trying to get the bartender’s attention.

The bored man eyed him with disdain.

“Yes?” He asked.

Fiddleford could read the undertone of “ _don’t waste my time”_ in the curl of his lips and the flare of his nostrils.

“Have you seen this man?” Fiddleford asked showing him the picture Stan had left.

“I’ll pay you if you can tell me where to find him,” He added quickly.

The bar tender eyed him for a moment and then held out his hand. Fiddleford shakily put a few bills into it and waited. The bartender scrutinized the picture.

“We had a man like that who used to be a regular a while back. He vanished for a long time. Just a week or two ago he reappeared and drunk himself into a stupor. We kicked him out and haven’t seen him since.”

“Thanks,” Fiddleford said with a sigh.

He dragged himself out of the bar, back onto the street. Stan had been here recently. He said in his letter he knew a friend who could give him work, so there was a good chance he was still in the area, but where? He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Why couldn’t Stan leave an address or something?

Maybe he could check some hotels? Stanley hadn’t been gone that long. He might not have gotten a place to stay yet. He sighed and began to trek slowly down the street. He was so tired.

It was on the second day of his search that something red caught his attention. It was Stan’s Diablo. Fiddleford had never been so happy to see a car in his life. As he had suspected, it was parked at a hotel. It was a very run down place. Most likely crawling with bugs. The paint was peeling of the walls. Fiddleford took a breath and went into the lobby.

The woman at the counter was very perky and quickly gave Fiddleford Stan’s room number, but he noticed during the length of their conversation one of her hands never moved out from under the desk. He left the office as soon as he had the information.

Room 205…

Fiddleford made his way up the stairs. He glanced at the doors as he made his way down the hall.

Room 211… 210… 209… 208… 207… 206…

205\. There it was. Fiddleford stopped in front of the door. The curtains were drawn so he couldn’t see in side. He took a few breaths. After rocking in place for a moment, he knocked on the door. There was no response. He knocked again, a little louder. Still nothing. He felt his anxiety rearing up its head again. He pounded hard on the door.

“Stan are you in there?”

Finally he heard footsteps and the door opened. Stan was there, but Fiddleford hardly recognized him. His hair was dirty and matted, he had a slight beard, he smelled like he hadn’t bathed in a while, but what really got Fiddleford’s attention was the slump of his shoulders and the expression on his face. He looked dead. There was no sparkle in his eyes or wry grin tugging at his lips. His eyes were dull and unfocused. Fiddleford hardly noticed the pistol in his hands.

“Stan?” He said uncertainly.

Stan stared at him for a long minute before his brows wrinkled a little.

“Fiddleford?” His tone was puzzled. “What are you doing here?”

“I come to find you, because I need your help,” Fiddleford said slowly. “But that can wait. What happened to you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Stan said tonelessly.

“Yes it does,” Fiddleford said.

“Look we can talk about me later,” Stan said. “Why do you need my help?”

Fiddleford hesitated. He was really scared for Stanley. The last time he had seen someone look like that… It hadn’t ended well. He didn’t want to lose his friend. He search Stan’s face and then sighed. Maybe Stan would open up if he talked first.

“It… It’s the project,” He said finally. “Me and Stanford were testing it out and I accidently put a foot over the safety line and… and…”

_No… The eyes! They were coming for him!_

“Fiddleford!” Stan’s voice snapped him out of his trance.

Fiddleford realized he was shaking again. He stared at his hands for a moment and then started laughing. Why couldn’t he just talk about this like a normal person? His laugher wrenched and then turned into sobs. He tugged hard at his hair. He just wanted to forget.

“Fiddleford…”

He looked up at Stanley. God… He didn’t want his friend to see him like this. Stan’s eyes were a little more focused and concern was peeking through the deadness.

“Why don’t you come inside,” Stan said, standing slightly to the side of the door.

Fiddleford nodded and moved past him. After a moment his eyes adjusted to the dark. It was a small room. One bed and a bathroom. Dirty clothes and food wrappers were piled up everywhere. The bed was an unmade mess.

Stan shoved some of the sheets to the side and sat down, indicating for Fiddleford to sit beside him.

“So clearly something bad happened,” Stan said. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“I need you to help me convince Stanford to turn off the portal. Otherwise the world might end,” Fiddleford said quickly.

“Me? Convince Stanford?” Stan said slowly. “You must be joking.”

“But he’s your brother,” Fiddleford said frowning.

“Apparently you missed the news then… he doesn’t want me around anymore, said so himself,” Stan said with a harsh laugh.

Fiddleford blinked and sat for a moment trying to process that sentence.

“That can’t be true,” He said, finally. “Stanford’s been real down since you left.”

“Probably because he feels that I betrayed him again,” Stan muttered, staring down at his hands.

“Stanford doesn’t think that. He’s been real down on himself since you left. He says it’s his fault,” Fiddleford said.

Stan stared at him incredulously.

“Please come back with me,” Fiddleford said, gently. “Somethings not adding up and… and I’m scared for you.”

He didn’t want to lose both of his friends.

“Please,” He repeated, his voice cracking a little at the end.

Stan stared at him and finally sighed.

“Okay,” He said.


	12. Too Late

_“Bill! You lied to me! Where does that portal really lead?” Stanford yelled, running toward the floating triangle in his mindscape._

_Bill spared him a casual glance and then looked at what appeared to be a tear in the fabric of Stanford’s mindscape. Within a number of dark shaped floated against a nauseating swirl of colors._

_Bill laughed mockingly and said, “Looks like Mr. Brainiac finally got smart! Let’s just say that when that portal finishes charging up, your dimension is gonna learn how to party.”_

_He grinned and looked into the rip._

_“Right, guys?”_

_The hair on the back of Stanford’s neck stood on end as a cacophony of malicious laughter and snarls filtered into his reality. Ford forced his gaze away from rift to his traitorous muse. Betrayal burning in his throat like bile and vinegar._

_“No!” He snarled at the triangle._

_His heart pounded rapidly; no doubt the adrenaline would wake him soon._

_“I’ll stop you! I’ll SHUT IT DOWN!” Ford said slashing his arm through the air in front of him._

_Bill turned back toward Ford and fixed him in an unnerving stare._

_“A deal’s a deal, Sixer!” He said. “You can’t stop a bridge between our worlds from coming, but it would be fun to watch you try! Cute even!” Stanford’s form began to flicker as he felt himself waking up. As the dream world was about to vanish from around him he felt something grab onto his arm. As he prepared to shove it off he turned to look. That was a mistake. It was Bill… it had to be, but now he was seeing Stan staring back at him._

_He froze, staring at his mirror image like a deer in the headlights. Stan… Bill’s lips curled into a smile. His eyes flickered back and forth between his usual yellow snake like one and Stanley’s amber brown ones. Goose bumps raised on Stanford’s arm. He could feel his pulse fluttering painfully in his throat._

_“Do you really think they’ll come back after everything?” Bill asked in Stanley’s voice._

_Ford tried to pull free, but the grip was solid and unyielding._

_“Face it Sixer,” Bill continued._

_The image of Stan separated from Bill. It cast Stanford a disdainful glance before moving to stand beside the triangle: back toward Stanford arms crossed and posture stiff. An image of Fiddleford materialized on the triangle’s other side. His assistant was disheveled and angry looking. Hair every which way, eyes crazed._

_“You’ve alienated the only two people who can help you. They don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”_

_The copies glared at Stanford accusingly. Despite knowing that they were fakes he felt his stomach twist; a familiar feeling of shame filled his stomach._

_Bill’s grip was painful now. The fingernails cut into his arm, drawing blood. The triangle was too close. His eye filled Stanford’s vision. It was an ominous blood red._

_“I’m the only one you have left,” Bill’s voice came from every direction, echoing inside Stanford’s head. “You might as well give in.”_

* * *

The motor hummed steadily as Stan drove toward gravity falls. He glanced at Fiddleford who was seated beside him. The man looked terrible: his clothes were rumpled; his hair was in disarray and there were deep bags under his eyes. As they drove along he would occasionally start to drift off to sleep, jerk violently and the stare frantically around, before settling back down to stare blankly at the road ahead.

Living on the streets Stan had seen men lose their minds before. Heck he had done some time in the loony bin himself. He didn’t want Fiddleford to end up in that damned hell hole. It was almost physically painful to see the brilliant engineer falling apart like this.

If Stan wasn’t so concerned about him, he would never have even thought about going back to Gravity Falls. He didn’t really know what to think about the whole world ending thing. What had Fiddleford seen? He gave a little shutter at the thought.

Stan almost missed the exit sign, put managed to pull a sharp turn and make it. Fiddleford let out a little yelp beside him as the motion pushed him into the car door.

They wound slowly up the ridges leading into the valley of Gravity Falls, each caught up in their own thoughts. The Diablo crested the ridge that would bring them into sight of the valley.  

Something was in their path.

Stan slammed on the breaks and skidded to a halt. The smell of burning rubber filled the car. Stan took several deep breaths to steady himself before looking up again.

Some sort of dome was covering the whole of Gravity Falls. In front of them it met the ground. It might have been orange Stan couldn’t be sure something about the colors wasn’t quite right. They seemed to be constantly shifting and changing.

Beside him Fiddleford whimpered and curled in on himself. Stan got out of the car entranced by the sight before him. Slowly he approached the transparent wall. Behind it the world was warped. He could see flames in the distance, shadows and shapes shifting restlessly, things were flying in the sky, but he couldn’t discern what they were. Slowly he reached out and touched the bubble, his hand passed easily through, as if it wasn’t there. He quickly pulled it back.

He slipped back into the car.

“What do you make of this, Fidds?” He asked.

“It’s the beginning of the end,” Fiddleford whispered, staring at the bubble blankly.

Stan blinked.

“Well it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere,” He said cautiously.

“That-that’s because of the magnetism,” Fiddleford said.

“Magnetism?” Stan prompted when he trailed off.

“Yeah, Stanford was studying it. Gravity Falls draws in and traps the supernatural. The stranger it is the harder it is for it to leave. I don’t know the specifics… but Ford does.”

Fiddleford jerked violently and suddenly turned to Stan and grabbed his shoulders.

“When Gravity Falls and earth becomes sky, fear the beast with just one eye!”

Fiddleford’s eyes were wide and seemed to be staring right into him. Stan shoved him off and moved back.

“Fiddleford!”

Fiddleford blinked and his eyes refocused. He was shaking badly.

“Sorry,” He whispered, grabbing his own shoulders with a white-knuckled grip.

“Hey… hey… It’s okay,” Stan said carefully stretching a hand out toward the frightened scientist.

Stan hesitated a moment longer and then carefully wrapped his arms around his friend. Fiddleford froze for a moment and then returned the hug with a painfully tight grip. Shaking and crying over Stan’s shoulder.

Stan awkwardly patted him on the back and tried to control his own breathing. Now that he thought about it this was the first hug he had had in years.

When Fiddleford finally stopped shacking, Stan let go. He stood up and cleared his throat self-consciously before saying, “So what should we do?”

“Well for now let’s go back to the last town and get some food,” Fiddleford said after a long moment. “Best not to talk about plans in front of this thing…. We don’t know what might be watching.”

Stan nodded, giving the bubble a wary glance. He suspected Fiddleford wasn’t just being paranoid at this point.


	13. Meeting a Bear in its Cave

Stan was not sure how they had managed to make it, but they arrived at the cave relatively unscathed. That and the fact that they managed to find the cave at all were both miracles in his mind. Stan took one last look behind him to make sure that nothing had followed them in. He pulled the car out of sight of the entrance and turned off the engine, then got out of the car and looked around.

Despite the absolute madness outside, the cave was almost exactly the same as it had been the last time Stan was there. The only obvious difference was that someone had crossed out the eye on Bill’s image in the mural. Stan wasn’t sure why, but he felt himself relax a hair when he saw that. He grimaced as flashes of raised voices and hurtful words flickered through his memory. He shook his head. This was no time to think about that.

He knocked gently on the hood.

“You comin’ Fidds’?” He asked, keeping his voice low.

There was a flurry of movement and then the scientist emerged from the car. He flinched as the door closed a little harder than intended and moved over to Stan’s side, casting a wary glance at the mural.

Stan noticed that he already had his pack slung over his narrow shoulders and went back to the trunk to retrieve his.

As he was doing that he saw Fiddleford continue to watch the mural.

“Is this it?”

“Yeah,” Stan replied.

Just then something moved in the shadows. Stan shoved his flashlight into Fiddleford’s shaking hands and grabbed a shovel from the trunk. He cursed himself for leaving the rifle in the backseat. He should have been carrying it. Stan moved in front of his friend.

“Who’s there?”

His lips pulled back from his teeth as he snarled out the question. His pulse was racing. This was too familiar in all the wrong ways.

“Identify yourselves, first,” A voice rumbled back from the shadows.

The tone was deep and vibrated Stan’s chest. Whatever this was, it was probably bigger than him, however years on the run had taught him to never reveal his name to unknown people. He nudged Fiddleford’s foot with his own and softly breathed out, “the light”.

Fiddleford quickly shined his light in the direction of the voice and adjusted it to full brightness. They got their first look at the thing that was talking to them.

It was a bear. It was the biggest bear Stan had ever seen in his life. And as he had been living in Gravity Falls for a while now, that said something.

Stan looked at the shovel in his hands and then back up at the bear. Very carefully and deliberately he returned it to the trunk of his Diablo.

“State your identities,” The bear repeated with a snarl.

“I’m Stan Pines.”

“Fiddleford Hadron Mcgucket.”

His friend moved out from behind him.

“What’s your business here?” The bear asked.

Stan almost made up a story, but then he thought better of it. It was probably better not to give the giant talking bear a reason to maul them.

“We’re looking for a way to rescue my brother and defeat Bill,” He said with as much confidence as he could muster.

He nodded up toward the paintings.

“We thought these might give us a clue how to go about that.”

The bear stared at them for a moment and then its lips pulled back from its teeth again. It started to make odd chuffing noises. It took Stan a moment to realize that it was laughing at them.

“You? Defeat Bill?” It asked scornfully. “You’re shaking at the sight of me. Our strongest have tried and are now stone in his miserable pyramid for all their trouble.”

“My brother was the one who built the portal that let Bill into this world,” Stan blurted out, before he could think through what he was saying. “If we can rescue him maybe he will know something that will help us force Bill back out.”

The bear stopped laughing. Its eyes gleamed and then, before Stan or Fiddleford could react, it was right in front of them. It rose up on its hind legs easily more than triple Stan’s height. Fiddleford let out a shriek at his side, but didn’t run.

“Why should we trust the kin of that scum who put us into this nightmare?” It snarled into Stan’s face.

Fiddleford was still beside and Stan drew strength from the fact that his friend was not going to abandon him. He took a deep breath, clenched his fists and then met the bear’s eyes. Before he could speak Fiddleford spoke up from beside him. His voice was terrified and breathy, but still determined.

“Because since he’s the one who got us into this mess he’s the best one to get us out. He may be foolish, but he would never purposefully start an apocalypse. Since he’s known and studied Bill for several years he’s the most likely person to know his weakness. We’re the best chance you’ve got.”

Stan felt a surge of gratefulness for the bright inventor. The bear stared glanced at Fiddleford and then started into Stan’s eyes. He fought down the urge to cough as its rancid breath filled his lungs.

“Fine,” The bear said at last. “But if you betray us to Bill, I will rip out your throat myself.”

It snapped its teeth together so close to Stan’s neck that he could feel them glaze his skin, then it backed away and dropped to all fours.

“Follow me,” It said turning away.

Stan trailed after it on suddenly very weak legs, Fiddleford close behind. Stan slowed so he could catch up and squeezed his shoulder gently. The bear lead them to the right of the mural into the cave that Stan and Ford had chosen not to explore. Two Manotaurs were guarding each side of the entrance. They fixed Stan and Fidds in suspicious stares, but parted for as the bear approached.

It guided them through a maze of tunnels that Stan would have gotten lost in trying to navigate alone and then finally out into a large cavern the size of a football field. A huge camp filled the entire cavern. All sorts of creatures, magical and mundane, were milling about, even a few humans.

Stan didn’t have much time to take it in, however, before a low voice, that rumbled and hissed like a rock slide, spoke from behind him.

“Well we meet again, young thief.”

Stan spun around and came face to face with the very same dragon he and Ford had escaped. It met his eyes and then its lips pulled back into a toothy smile. Stan swallowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Posts chapter 13 over a year after chapter 12* "Listen guys, I can explain"
> 
> Anyway I'm back. Things will start heating up next chapter as our heroes try to figure out how to rescue the unfortunate Ford.


	14. More meetings

Stan took a step back and then froze. The dragon watched him smugly from the wall for a moment. Its iridescent purple scales reflected the light of the fires in the cavern. Then it came forward. It glided down the side of the cavern like a garden lizard would down a tree. As it circled around Stan, corralling his frozen body on all sides with walls of scaly flesh, he was distantly aware of Fiddleford screaming his name. The dragon’s head reared above him.

All Stan could think was that this was it. He was going to die. It was certainly not what he had imagined, but it was at least an interesting way to go out. He really hoped that dragons did not play with their food like cats.

“So little thief, do you still have the pendent you stole from me?” The dragon asked.

_The pendent? The pendent!_

With shaking hands Stan riffled around in his pocket. He had been planning to sell it when he was in Portland, but hadn’t been able to work up the energy to do so. He was suddenly very glad for that. He found it and held it up to the dragon.

“Good,” The dragon said. “Do you know the significance of that?”

“N-No, Sir,” Stan managed to force out nervously.

“Ma’am,” The dragon corrected him.

 “Normally that pendent is only given to humans that have been deemed to be allies and friends of dragon kind. It allows the human who bears it to understand the speech of dragons. It is a high honor.”

The dragon paused letting that sink in.

“Um, here. You can have it back, Ma’am,” Stan said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Please don’t kill me.”

The dragon snorted out a puff of smoke.

“That’s not how it works,” She said. “Now that you have taken ownership of it, I cannot take it back until you are dead.”

Stan eyes widened as the connotations settled in.

“So you’re definitely going to kill me.”

“I was going to,” The dragon said. “But in light of recent events, I’ve decided to give you a chance.”

The dragon lowered its head down close fixing him a large eye. It was so close that Stan could see the veins.

“Prove yourself worthy and noble and I will let you live and you shall keep the pendent. Fail and well… With this apocalypse going on I could certainly use some emergency rations.”

The dragon flashed him a grin, sharp pointed ivory teeth on display.

“Got it?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Stan squeaked.

“Good.”

With a relaxed but deliberate ease the dragon unwound itself from around Stan. She bounded back up the wall and vanished into a dark tunnel that Stan hadn’t noticed before. He clenched his hand tightly around the pendent in an attempt to get it to stop shaking.

* * *

 

Fiddleford watched as the dragon left before moving forward to check on his friend. Stan looked about as pale as a sheet. His eyes were still fixed on the place where the dragon had disappeared.

“Are ya okay, Stan?” Fiddleford asked.

He was shaking himself. He had been pretty sure his friend was going to be dragon chow.

There was no reply.

“Stan?”

Stan blinked and looked at him.

“Wha…? Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” He said slowly, left hand clenching tight around something.

“Stan…”

Stan laughed nervously and turned to the bear.

“So what now?” He asked in a slightly high pitched voice.

Fiddleford sighed and turned his attention to the bear as well.

The bear grunted.

“Now we call a meeting to determine if you bring us anything worthwhile and if this plan to rescue your brother has any merit.”

A patter of footsteps interrupted them.

“Ma!”

The bear turned to look at the person approaching them and Stan and Fiddleford followed its gaze.

“Mayor!?” Stan said eyes wide.

Fiddleford could understand the sentiment. Like everyone else in town he had heard the rumor that the mayor had been raised by bears. He had assumed it was just that: a rumor. Apparently he was wrong. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised. This was Gravity Falls, after all: the place where you might run into a goblin when you went out to get the morning paper and current home to the end of the world.

The spry 70-year-old jogged up to the bear and gave it a quick hug. The bear sniffed his hair and gave him a light bump with her snout in return.

The mayor then turned to them. He looked them up and down for a second before a pleased expression lit up his eyes.

“Mr. McGucket! Mr. Pines! Good to see that you’ve both made it. Did you bring any supplies?”

“Yeah…” Stan said slowly.

“We’ve got some in our packs and some more back in the car,” Fiddleford said.

“Excellent,” The mayor said, beaming. “If you can lend me the keys I’ll send someone back to get them.”

“Dan!” He yelled back toward the encampment.

Fiddleford glanced over at Stan. The man looked rather uncomfortable. Now that Fiddleford thought about it, that car was Stan’s prized possession and had been his home for about ten or fifteen years. It made sense that he would be warry about trusting it to a stranger.

A red-headed teen with a scruffy beard and a plaid flannel shirt came jogging up to them.

“Mrs. Maurice,” He said giving a nod of acknowledgement to the bear, before turning to the mayor.

“You wanted me Mr. Mayor?”

“Yes, would you go back to the entrance and retrieve the supplies from this gentleman’s car?” The mayor said waving a hand at Stan.

“Of course.”

The youth turned expectantly toward Stan who was looking very uncomfortable. There were tight lines across his face and his hands buried deep in his pockets. Fiddleford decided to step in.

“The car’s pretty special to my friend, make sure you’re careful with it,” He said.

He held Dan’s gaze until the teen nodded in acknowledgement. This seemed to help a little and Stan rather stiffly surrendered his keys.

After the boy disappeared into the exit tunnel, the large bear, Maurice, turned toward the mayor.

“Eustace, would you call together a meeting. These two seem to think they have some worthwhile information that will help us get the drop on Bill.”

The mayor blinked and turned back toward Fiddleford and Stan with an intense gaze.

“I’ll do so immediately,” He said before jogging off again.

The bear watched him go and then shook her head. She glanced at Stan and Fiddleford.

“Okay you two, follow me.”

Maurice led them through the encampment. Humans and creatures, all dirtied and worn, stared at them with interest as they passed by.

Suddenly a small ball of fire, as if from a Roman candle or flare, shot up and illuminated the top of the cavern. Murmuring started to come from all around them.  The tents and adobe huts emptied and beings of all varieties converged in the direction Maurice was taking them.

After about five minutes they came to a large clearing in the encampment. A mob of humans were crowded on the left side by the mayor. They wore grease paint and ratty clothing. There was a crowd of tiny little creatures that looked like dwarves with golf balls for heads in front of them.

About five or so unicorns stood on the right watching the proceeding with rather disdainful expressions. One with a rainbow mane aimed a kick at a gnome that was getting too close. Another Manotaur stood to the mayor’s left, towering over some of the townsfolk. On the mayors right a weird looking bear with multiple heads and limbs was matching them. It waved at Maurice as they approached.

There were many more strange creatures present, both ones that Fiddleford had seen from his time with Stanford and ones that he was entirely unfamiliar with, but he didn’t have any more time to look. They came to a stop in the center of the circle.

Maurice let out a roar and an abrupt silence spread over the room.

“Listen up,” She said. “These two humans think they know a way to defeat Bill.”

She then wandered across the circle and settled between the mayor and the multi-headed bear. Fiddleford swallowed, paranoia welling up in full force as hundreds of eyeballs settled on him and Stan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This posting regularly is going to take some practice... By the way things will be getting busy for me toward the end of the month, so be sure to check my tumblr for any changes to my update schedule.
> 
> Next chapter... Things heat up!

**Author's Note:**

> This is also cross posted on my Tumblr and my Fanfiction account, which go by the same name.


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